


Blow High, Blow Low, and so sailed we

by insominia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Declarations Of Love, Duelling, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Intrigue, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Naval Battles, Navy Castiel (Supernatural), Period Typical Attitudes, Pirate Dean Winchester, Pirates, Slavery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21921967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: Dean Winchester is not the first pirate Captain Castiel Novak of Her Majesty's frigate The Seraph has been sent to capture, but he may very well be the last.When fate (and a cannon) conspire to bring them together Castiel finds that Dean and his crew are unlike any pirates he has ever encountered. Drawn into a conspiracy that threatens everything Castiel believes in, Castiel must decide where his true allegiances lie. In the meantime, he must survive his time with the very pirate he was sent to capture, which seems unbearably easy when Dean insists on being so completely charming.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Gilda, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 173
Collections: Fic Facer$ 2019





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VegasGranny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VegasGranny/gifts).



> *Insert Fanfare Here*
> 
> I don't usually post WIPs after my last one took *cough* fourteen years to complete *cough* but thankfully that won't be the case this time! This will update Sundays and will probably gain an additional update a week once the season calms down a bit. 
> 
> For VegasGranny who won me in the FicFacer$ raffle and wanted Pirate AU Destiel. The poor love had no idea that I moonlight as a history blogger with a specific interest in the Age of Sail. Oh dear. So this has become a labour of love that I am thoroughly enjoying working on, especially when it means I can commandeer a lecture room's whiteboard to debate naval tactics with some likeminded people. So there are times when this is gonna get nautical AF. There'll also be a smattering of easter eggs for fans of Bolitho, Hornblower and Aubrey, naturally! 
> 
> VegasGranny I hope you enjoy <3

* * *

The bow of His Majesty’s frigate _‘The Seraph’_ rose and fell, sending a cold spray across the deck, but that was to be expected even in these summer waters. The Captain, Castiel Novak, had been leaning against the side, just watching the way the water sparkled under such a bright sun. He was used to getting splashed after a lifetime at sea, so the way in which he removed his hat and flicked the excess droplets from it was well practised. The rest of him would dry swiftly in enough in this sun. Somewhere far behind him, the marine sentry rang the bell heralding the start of the first dog-watch. The ship became a hive of activity as men jumped down from their stations and others took over for them, but Castiel didn’t move. His second in command would be coming to relieve him but that didn’t mean he couldn’t stay a little longer, after all, who would tell him to move along?

He could have set his watch by the sound of his first lieutenant’s boots on the deck behind them, able to count down to the second when the heels clicked to attention smartly behind him.

“Mister Ishim,” Castiel said, without needing to turn around.

“Sir,” the first lieutenant stepped beside him. “Another day and no sign of him?”

It was a redundant question, had they sighted their quarry the ship would be a mass of gunpowder and drums, rather than a relatively peaceful cruise, disturbed only by the necessity of changing the watch. Castiel, therefore, made no response.

Nevertheless, Ishim continued, “It’s been five weeks, how much longer are we going to waste our time out here?”

Castiel took a breath, mentally counting to ten in his head. It was a tired argument, one he was sick of having, but his desire for cohesion above all else among his ranking officers meant he wouldn’t challenge the man directly, even though a stern word is all that would be needed.

“There is a war on, we should be taking the fight to the enemy, not poncing around the Caribbean looking for one bastard pirate.”

“That one bastard pirate sank six ships in less weeks,” Castiel reminded him, softly, “We will stay until our duty is done.”

“We’ve been out here for over a month, sir, will you not give the order to return to Port Royal?”

Castiel turned and arched an eyebrow at Ishim, the only outward sign that the man was taking liberties he did not possess.

“We will return when we have completed our mission,” Castiel said, shortly.

Ishim was not deterred and again Castiel quashed the urge to roll his eyes. “But five weeks and not a hint of him, the admiralty would not take it amiss if we couldn’t find him.”

Castiel did not dignify that with a response. “Carry on, Mister Ishim,” he said, stepping away, off the quarterdeck, refusing to be drawn. There was no point him staying even if he were to put some distance between them, his good humour had been thoroughly spoiled. Instead, he retreated into the relative comfort of his cabin, his orders still waiting for him on the desk and he glanced at them even though he had read them so many times since opening them a month ago he could have repeated them word for word.

_To: Cpt. Castiel Novak H.M.S Seraph_  
_From: The Admiral of His Brittanic Majesty’s West Indies Station_

_Upon receipt of these orders you are hereby requested and required to proceed with all dispatch to take up patrolling duties in the waters controlled by His Brittanic Majesty’s West Indies Station. You are to intercept the American Pirate IMPALA operating in those waters and sink, burn or take her a prize._

_Yours etc etc…_

Castiel leaned back into his chair and sighed, he would like nothing more than to sink, burn or take her a prize, but first, he’d have to bloody well find her and the _Impala_ was proving one of the most elusive ships he’d ever been tasked with capturing. He had a good record for catching pirates, one of the best in fact, so it hadn’t been all that surprising to have been diverted from their regular duties of harassing the enemy whenever they dared to leave port. Granted, the Caribbean was a long way from the Channel and his first lieutenant hadn’t quite stopped grumbling about it. Not that Castiel could completely blame him. Active duty along the front came with the promise of glorious battle and prizes, Ishim had been waiting to make a name for himself for a long time and the prize money would be a welcome addition to his relatively empty pocket. There wasn’t much chance of glory or prizes patrolling the Caribbean looking for one lone pirate however much trouble said pirate was causing. Whoever captained the _Impala_ must have had a vendetta against the merchants of the Caribbean given the frequency and intensity of the attacks. Even so, it was a great deal of effort for just one ship.

Still, orders were orders.

Castiel sighed, maybe if he wasn’t comfortably secure as a post-captain then he might have complained too, maybe he should try and be a little more understanding of Ishim’s position. He couldn’t help but snort, looking around the cabin as though he’d expected to be caught even though he was quite alone. Maybe. Or maybe Ishim could shut the hell up and do his job? That was a far more appealing course of action.


	2. Chapter 2

The First Lieutenant's mood did not improve when, after another week, they still hadn’t so much as sighted _Impala_. And his mood turned positively black when Castiel announced around the wardroom table one morning that he was cutting the men’s rations by a third.

“How long are we going to continue this fool’s errand, wasting time and rations looking for one lousy pirate? Shall we starve to death in the endeavour?”

It was borderline insubordination and there was no way Castiel could allow it to stand, not in front of the other senior officers, gathered around the chart room, who were already looking to him for action. Before he could chastise his first lieutenant, his second spoke up. As a general rule, Balthazar was well-liked and his easy charm allowed him to get on with everyone. Indeed, it allowed him to get away with saying things that would be inappropriate coming from anyone else. Perhaps it was because he was known for his levity but when Balthazar spoke up it seemed to have more of an effect than if Castiel himself had spoken.

“I trust you are not questioning the Captain’s orders, Mister Ishim?” he asked, but with no hint of his usual good humour.

There were several officers around the table, all of whom seemed to hold their breath, waiting for Ishim to accept the reprimand and move along.

He did not.

“I would question any man’s orders that had us cruising around the Caribbean for no good reason while there is a war to be fought.”

There should have been silence. The room should have fallen quiet waiting for the Captain’s reaction but Balthazar, opened his mouth and Castiel knew, he just _knew_ that in his next report to the Admiralty he was going to have to explain how his first and second lieutenants had been killed or injured in a duel that had started in _The Seraph_ ’s wardroom simply because Castiel had not curbed Ishim’s tongue.

The challenge was obvious, but Balthazar never got the chance to voice it, interrupted by a knock at the door and the Captain’s steward, little more than a boy, stepping in and addressing Castiel, nervous in the presence of so many senior officers, said, “Mister Benjamin sends his compliments and requests your presence on deck, sir, coming up on a merchant ship, sir,” he added.

The argument between Ishim and Balthazar was immediately quite forgotten as everyone turned to look at Castiel, the tension in the room replaced with the immediate buzz of excitement.

“Thank you, Alfie. Gentlemen, if you’ll take your stations.”

He had said it calmly but the effect could not have been more pronounced as the men practically rushed the door in a manner that spoke less of their years of naval service and more of their combined frustration with how little action they’d seen in these parts.

Balthazar remained, regarding Castiel with something close to a smile, “You’re going to have to talk to him, Cassie,” the nickname never failed to cause Castiel to flinch, “It’s practically mutiny he’s talking.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, allowing Alfie to slip on his overcoat, “The man is frustrated and has family far higher in the Admiralty than I, _and it’s Castiel_ ,” he hissed, “but I’d prefer ‘Captain.’”

“And you’ll get neither,” Balthazar sighed dramatically, his hand over his heart, “We’ve been through too much you and I. I’ll see you hoisting your own flag and I’ll still call you Cassie, but-” he added, a necessary concession, “I promise only when we’re alone.” He winked at Alfie who just about managed to stifle his laugh before Castiel glared at him from under the hat Alfie positioned on his head.

“How kind,” Castiel grumbled, unable to quite sound as annoyed as he should at his oldest friend who had once held his hair back when Castiel had still been in short trousers and gotten sick on his first time in a row-boat. Balthazar just shot him a winning smile and held the door, giving an exaggerated bow as his Captain stepped past him.

* * *

The captain of the merchant ship seemed to have taken it as a personal affront that his ship should have been targeted by pirates. He shouted across to Castiel through a speaking-trumpet which seemed to have been the only thing the pirates had left them.

“They took everything, _everything_ ,” the man called, emphatically and Castiel struggled not to roll his eyes. He imagined they would have, pirates being what they were. What he really needed from this man was less lamenting about his lost goods and more information that might actually prove useful. Which direction had they gone in? How were their sails set? How long ago had they left?

When the shout came it seemed to sound of serendipity itself. Castiel, along with every officer on deck, turned from the merchant to look up at where one of the lookouts was calling to them. His words were lost somewhere on the wind between them, but his intention was clear, as was the direction in which he was pointing. Castiel had only to put his hand out and there was a glass slapped into it. He trained it in the direction the lookout had indicated and gave a small smile; there was the ship. It had more than a decent headstart on them, but _The Seraph_ was fast and Castiel knew how to coax a little more out of her.

The merchant was still calling to them when Castiel handed the glass back to wherever it came from.

“Set course south by south-west,” Castiel said to no one in particular, but that did not the ship immediately moving as a whole to carry out his orders. He paused, looking between the sails and the sea for a moment, considering how much sail they could afford to carry.

“Looks like he’s running into some bad weather,” Balthazar said, beside him, his glass still looking out to where the other ship had yet to spy them. “Shouldn’t take us more than a few hours to catch up to her, less if our wind holds.”

Balthazar turned back to Castiel, hesitating when he caught sight of something over the captain’s shoulder. Castiel glanced back with him, but only saw Ishim in conversation with some officers near the taffrail.

“Probably just discussing our next moves,” Castiel sighed, quietly so that only Balthazar could hear him. Balthazar did not look convinced. “Set the mainsail there,” he said, a little louder this time, “We might as well make the most of this wind while we have it. Then send the hands to dinner, they’ll need it for when we catch up with her.”

* * *

Even with the promise of battle looming, Ishim seemed determined to keep his ill-humour. Every time Castiel looked over at him he seemed to be engaged in hushed conversation, which was impressive in itself given the close quarters in which every man was forced to conduct himself. Castiel wasn’t prone to paranoia but the way in which Ishim went quiet every time the captain passed was starting to grate a little. Castiel had commanded _The Seraph_ for almost three years now and even as a new addition to the crew he could count on his reputation to hold some sway, if not a healthy fear of his uniform. But there was nobody on the crew he didn’t trust, except maybe the group that Ishim seemed to surround himself with. Men as ambitious as his first lieutenant, but unless they intended to outright commit mutiny, a thought as laughable as it was impossible, then they would have to make do with the more traditional routes for promotion. Though granted they were less forthcoming on a mission such as this, patrolling a relatively insignificant stretch of sea searching for a pirate when the rest of the fleet blockaded the Empire and took French frigates for prizes.

Still, one could not deny the slow buzz of anticipation that seemed to build across the deck as _The Seraph_ closed on her quarry with far greater swiftness than Balthazar had predicted. Their advantage would only last until the bad weather that engulfed the other ship met them, but it was an advantage nonetheless.

Castiel passed his glass to Balthazar who was hanging onto the rigging beside him, they were close enough that they could read the ship’s name Impala, picked out in gold across the stern.

“We’ll beat to quarters if you please, Mister Ishim. A guinea for the gun crew that lands the first shot and another for the mainmast, I think.”

There was a smattering of excited cheers across the deck which were quickly lost as the marines began drumming out a steady rhythm, alerting anyone who might have missed what they were doing, to attend to their battle stations. Even though it had been months since they had seen any action, the hasty routine of falling into position was second nature to the crew and it was but a matter of minutes before the cannons had been rolled out and secured, the gunners already priming them to better land their shots.

The ever-attentive ship’s master looked over at Castiel from the top of his fob watch where he had been timing the men and gave an approving nod. Castiel took the compliment with a nod of his own before a shout went up from somewhere above him, taking the attention of Castiel and all the officers who had gathered around him. The specifics had been lost, but it was clear what it had intended to draw attention to, as they closed on Impala they could clearly see a puff of smoke from the ship’s bow chasers, even if they could not see where the shot had landed.

“Ranging shots if you would, Mister Ishim!” Castiel called, trying not to let his own excitement show, though he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he too had found this posting tedious and if they could end this now then they could get back to the war. Castiel had less cause than most to seek honours and glory seeing as he was an established post-Captain and simply had to wait his turn to make admiral, but he _had_ missed the thrill of a fight, even if it was against one lowly pirate.

Not even the first spray of rain could dampen the ship’s spirits, even as they hastily took in sail, finally reduced to the crawl _Impala_ had been resigned to since the chase had begun. The sudden cloud cover made it seem as though they’d gone from day to night. _Impala_ was still visible though, even more so when the brief flash of illumination showed where they were shooting. Not that they had managed to land a single shot, Castiel didn’t think much of their gunnery. And this was the ship that had been terrorising the Caribbean?

“Meet them amidships!” Castiel called, hearing his orders echo from officer to officer until the ship obediently turned to close the distance between them.

“They’re lowering boats, sir,” Balthazar told him, “He’s trying to run away,” he added with a scoff.

Castiel took the glass back, but sure enough, _Impala_ was trying to move off, aiming for the relative safety offered by the fog of bad weather. Balthazar and Castiel exchanged mutual frowns. _Impala_ wasn’t _that_ outclassed by _The Seraph_ , yet she was doing her hardest to avoid the inevitable confrontation.

“Keep your eye on her, Balthazar,” Castiel said, turning on his heel and heading aft, looking for Ishim. The man might be a misery, but his division was the most competent of their gun crews.

It was a testament to Castiel’s many years at sea, that he knew something had happened before there was any sign of it.

There was a shout, but not the usual remarks from the lookout, this was a shout of warning. A cry that did more by its tone than its wordage, Castiel stopped in his tracks but even so, he knew it was too late. He was aware that he was no longer standing on the deck, so much as lying parallel to it and he couldn’t feel the wood beneath him. The pain came next, winding him though he was more aware of the ringing in his ears than the agony exploding across his chest. His last conscious thought before the darkness took him was that _Impala_ had at least one competent gunner.


	3. Chapter 3

It was almost a surprise when Castiel realised that he was not, as he had anticipated, dead. Not that he was doing well at regaining consciousness, but he was at least aware that he lived, despite the pain that prevented him from opening his eyes. His head hurt. He remembered the pain that had engulfed his chest but that had faded to an inconvenient burn compared to the feeling that his head was splitting open above his brow. He was dimly aware that he was making a noise, a pained groan in the back of his throat, but then there was the smell of something familiar, something that reminded him of the orlop and then he slept again.

How long he lay like that he had no idea. Nor was he entirely sure where it was that he was laying. It was too firm to be a hammock but not soft enough for his cot. Someone was wiping his brow, but the ship’s surgeon wouldn’t bother himself with such menial tasks, even for the captain, and he could tell by touch alone that it wasn’t Balthazar. It was far too gentle, Alfie maybe?

Forcing himself to open his eyes, despite the pain that protested the movement, Castiel felt his breath leave him and for a moment everything was forgotten. Where he was, the pain in his chest and head, whether he would ever breathe again, everything. It was not Alfie. It was decidedly _not_ Alfie. Castiel was looking up into the face of the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, with eyes so green Castiel could taste apples. His lips were moving, but it took Castiel a few moments to realise that the man was actually speaking, speaking to him no less, but the words washed over him as insubstantial as air. 

The pain came again, and he felt the man’s hand cup his face as Castiel’s eyes closed despite his protestations. Still, he wasn’t surprised to realise that the man was the product of a laudanum induced fancy and when he dreamed it was of those lips, green eyes and apples.

* * *

When Castiel next opened his eyes, the pain was largely gone, having faded into a dull ache in his temples. He didn’t take the time to consider it though, instead, his eyes darted around the unfamiliar cabin in which he lay. This was not his cabin, this wasn’t even his ship. He pushed himself up on his elbows, regretting it a little when his muscles ached from such a simple movement.

“Easy there,” an unfamiliar voice said from somewhere beside him and then there was a gentle hand on his shoulder, firmly holding him in place, stopping him from moving around too much. Castiel looked up at the man and oh. It was the man of his dreams, literally. The one he assumed his mind had conjured for surely nobody could be this beautiful. “You took one hell of a blow to the head,” the man said, his touch insisting Castiel lay back down, “You need to take it easy.”

Castiel grunted, but allowed himself to be moved, his head already spinning even though he’d barely lifted it. He tried to take in the cabin, but his eyes were inevitably drawn back to the man who leaned over him, his face filled with concern.

“Where am I?” Castiel asked, eventually.

The man had the audacity to look a little smug when he said, “You’re on the Impala.”

This time Castiel forced himself upright, hardly caring for the aches that assaulted him. “I’m _what_?!”

The man threw his hands up, “Honestly, we were as surprised as you are. We managed to lose you and when we went back for the boats we found you. Your head was pretty banged up from the fall, but you’re one lucky son of a bitch you know that?”

“I went overboard?” Castiel murmured, frowning as he tried to remember the last few moments on _The Seraph_. He couldn’t remember how he might have ended up overboard. There was an explosion for sure, the certain hit of a cannonball striking the port side, but in his mind, he was sure that such a thing would have blown him into the deck. Not that his memory could be trusted, especially given the blow he’d received. Castiel let himself relax into the cot, “My compliments to your gunner,” he muttered, “That was an excellent shot.”

The man frowned, scratching the back of his neck in an entirely nervous gesture. “Don’t look at me, it was nothing to do with us.”

Castiel arched an eyebrow, “It was a fair shot, there’s no need to-”

“No, you don’t understand,” the man insisted, “We weren’t firing on you.”

“We saw your powder.”

“Yeah and that’s all you saw. No offence, but did you not think you were getting off a little light? I know we’re pirates but we’re not _that_ bad. We used up the last of our big guns on the merchants you ran into. That’s why we were running like hell when we caught sight of you. I’m not always one to play the odds but I at least like to have a fighting chance. We were just lighting powder hoping it would scare you off, or at least slow you down.”

Castiel could do little more than stare at the man, and not just because he was gorgeous.

“Maybe...there was a problem on your end, it really was nothing to do with us,” the man said with every semblance of sincerity.

It hurt too much for Castiel to think so he didn’t dwell on it. He was alive, he would make it back to his ship and discover what happened, it didn’t matter right now. “Either way, I’m grateful you picked me up.”

“No problem, we’ll drop you off at Nassau.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, we can’t exactly sail into Kingston or Port Royal looking like this, Nassau won’t shoot us on sight,” the man laughed.

“No, I-” Castiel sighed, marshalling his thoughts, “I understand _why_ Nassau, I don’t understand why you aren’t ransoming me back.”

If Balthazar were here he would have cuffed Castiel around the head for reminding the pirate that he was a valuable commodity, but the guy would have had to have been dull beyond measure to have not grasped that particular concept.

“Too much hassle,” the man shrugged, but Castiel wasn’t convinced, not that he was in a position to argue for his own ransom. “We’ve got a stop to make before we head for port but,” he gestured to the cabin, “You can bunk in here. I usually share with my brother but he’s been in Eileen’s cabin since we set sail.”

“You have women in your crew?”

The man smirked, “You think you don’t?” He held his gaze, pointedly, until Castiel conceded the point. “So long as you don’t get in the way you can go where you like.”

“You’re not going to demand my sword?”

“I mean, I’ll take it if you want, but you’ll have a hard job escaping given that we’re in the middle of the ocean.”

They stared at each other for a moment, sizing the other up. Castiel had met pirate captains beforehand and they usually spoke a lot more with their fists than their words. They didn’t make a habit of treating their prisoners well and Castiel wasn’t quite sure what to make of his counterpart. At length he reached out to shake the man’s hand, he might as well, the man had been nothing but cordial to him since he woke up.

“Castiel Novak of The Seraph.”

The man beamed at him, taking his hand in his own, “Nice to meet you, Cas. Dean Winchester. Welcome aboard.”

* * *

It was not the first time Castiel had been captured by pirates. When he had been a second lieutenant aboard _The Sophie_ he had spent two months aboard a pirate ship before he’d managed to escape. It had been a dirty, squalid, violent time. In short, it was nothing like life aboard _Impala_. Castiel had never seen anything like it. Considering he was in the company of the murderous, violent pirates that had been terrorising the merchant ships of the Caribbean, Castiel couldn’t remember ever being so comfortable, even aboard ships he himself had commanded.

Captain Winchester, _Dean_ , as he’d insisted on being called introduced him to the crew who were largely nonplussed to find a naval pirate-catcher aboard their ship. There was Dean’s brother, Sam, who seemed more concerned about the injuries Castiel had received when he fell from _The Seraph_. They found him in the surgeon’s bay with a woman, Eileen. Neither of them were doctors but they were apparently the closest that could be found aboard and looked ashamed at the fact, until Castiel assured them they were probably more qualified than the barber operating aboard the ship he'd fallen from. Dean had given him the most appreciative smile for that, not that Castiel noticed such things from a rival captain, and a pirate no less.

The first mate was a charming man called Benny who began referring to Castiel as ‘brother’ within minutes of being introduced. And then there was Charlie, a fiery redhead in charge of navigation who claimed Castiel as her best friend when he pointed out an error on one of her maps. He’d expected her to be offended, but instead, she had thrown her arms around him and shouted emphatically that she had known there was something off on the charts. She’d asked Dean if they could keep him. It was all a far cry from the men who had all but torn Castiel’s boat cloak from him knowing that they would be able to sell the fabric.

“This...is not what I expected,” Castiel said, over dinner.

Dinner with Dean.

If _Impala_ were a naval vessel Castiel, as a prisoner of renown, could have expected an invitation to dine in the captain’s cabin. Dean had extended no such invitation, but it transpired that Dean didn’t eat in his cabin away from the rest of the crew as Castiel was accustomed to. Instead, when a bell rang somewhere on the ship to announce dinner, Dean steered Castiel by the shoulders below deck where a woman named Ellen handed him a bowl of stew.

“That’s the last of the chickens,” she told Dean, handing him his own plate, “We’ll need some supplies soon.”

Dean didn’t seem particularly bothered, “Tomorrow, Ellen,” he assured her, “We have an appointment,” he added, cryptically but it was clear that only Castiel didn’t know to what he was referring. He thanked her for their food and led Castiel out of the mess back on deck where they made themselves comfortable beside a cannon, watching the sunset over the sea.

“Yeah, well, you’re not what I expected either,” Dean mumbled, through a mouthful of chicken, while offering Castiel his pick of the biscuit. He flushed a little when he realised Castiel was looking at him, “I just mean I thought you’d be a full-of-yourself prig, one of those proper _little gentlemen_ , but you’re pretty cool.”

Castiel scoffed, “Thank you and you aren’t half the barbarian I thought you’d be.”

“The night is young,” Dean assured him and Castiel was surprised to find himself laughing along at Dean’s easy charm. When they trailed off they both stared at each other for a moment before Castiel cleared his throat.

“Why do you do it?” he asked and Dean arched an eyebrow in confusion. “Piracy, I mean. You have a beautiful ship, you could be a trader or a privateer even. You don’t seem like the other pirates I’ve encountered.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed a little and he turned his attention fully to his meal, “No, I imagine we’re not.,” but he didn’t offer anything more and Castiel had the distinct impression that the conversation was over. “There’s nothing like it though, huh? Being on the sea like this, I mean,” Dean said when the silence between them had started to border on strained.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been on the sea quite like this,” Castiel admitted, watching the blue of the sky ignite into swirls of red and yellow. When he lowered his gaze, he caught Dean looking at him again and they both looked away quickly. Inwardly, Castiel rolled his eyes that he should find himself with a crush, the likes of which his father had assumed had been beaten out of him during his earliest years as a midshipman. But, the man beside him was beyond gorgeous, not to mention kind. It would have been too much to hope that he kept catching Dean looking because he too was interested, he was probably just concerned that Castiel was going to try and bring harm to the ship somehow.

The sound of laughter distracted them from their less than furtive looks at each other, as Charlie emerged from below deck, hand in hand with yet another woman. The two of them had obviously made short work of their dinner and were now engaged in some kind of game where they tried to get away from each other even as they refused to let the other’s hand go. Charlie reached out with her free arm to pull them both towards the rigging, only to lose her balance and stumble into the other woman’s arms. Castiel swore he heard the thud of his jaw hitting the deck when the two of them laughed it off and shared a kiss before they righted themselves.

He flushed deep red when he realised Dean was staring at him again, but this time it was with an open question. “You never seen two people in love before, Cas?” Dean asked with obvious confusion.

“Not like that,” Castiel said, pointedly, noticing that nobody else on deck had even registered what was happening.

“This is one of the few places in the world we can be ourselves,” Dean said, quietly, watching Charlie and her _friend_ race each other to the lookout. “Freedom and all that,” he shrugged, but there was an edge to his voice, as though he were expecting Castiel to challenge it, as he knew probably half the Captain’s list would have done. The other half might have made a show of it, even though the world would shudder to know what they themselves got up to behind closed doors.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Castiel said when it became clear Dean was waiting for a reply. In return, he was rewarded with a beautific grin that warmed Castiel to his very core as the night chill set upon them.


	4. Chapter 4

It would take more than a few days aboard a foreign ship to undo a lifetime of sleeping in four-hour shifts. Castiel did not require the familiar chime of the ship’s bell to wake up exactly when he needed to, though he inevitably found himself a little disoriented to wake naturally and in the spare cot of a captain’s cabin that was not his own. How Dean could run a ship without the strict timekeeping of the Navy, Castiel would never know and when he’d asked, Dean had just laughed.

Dean laughed a lot. Certainly more than any other captain Castiel had known, where the strict chain of command required the captain to be remote, untouchable. There were those who were charismatic enough to let their guard down occasionally, but Castiel was not one of them, nor had he served with many of them. But then, there was nothing about Dean that seemed typical. Castiel had never met anyone so full of life, so carefree even with the burden of commanding the ship. It was only natural, therefore, that Castiel would find himself thinking about Dean as much as he did. How could anybody meet such a man and not consider him as much as Castiel seemed to be? 

Almost instinctively, he looked over at the other cot, hardly surprised when he saw that it was empty. He really did want to know how Dean was able to keep time. He caught himself smiling and tried to force it away. He was a prisoner of the pirates he had been sent to apprehend, he was _not_ having fun. He was _not_ enjoying himself. He was _not_ thinking about how much he enjoyed Dean’s company.

As soon as his feet touched the deck, Castiel found himself frowning. They weren’t moving. The ship had weighed anchor, but a quick glance out of the window showed that they were still at sea. He stood still for a moment, taking stock, but no- they definitely weren’t moving. There was only the natural gentleness of the waves, barely enough to move such a ship. From the movement alone Castiel knew that it was a calm day, instinctively recording such observations even though he had no need to navigate them himself.

His uniform had long been returned to him, but _Impala_ was so casual and everyone so friendly, Castiel had felt out of place, even more so than he would have thought possible, when he had donned his formal coat. Instead, he chose to step onto deck the way Dean did, in just his pants and a loose-fitting shirt. The Admiralty would have had a fit to have seen such a thing.

Even before he had left the cabin he was aware of the flurry of activity beyond the doors. It was not something he heard so much as something he felt. Castiel didn’t have to captain the vessel to feel the low buzz of excitement that could only come from the promise of action or a change in routine, however slight. Naturally, this being a pirate ship he wasn’t sure what to expect. What he absolutely did not expect was to find the ship hove to trading goods with another ship. Another ship that he recognised.

The first and only time Castiel had been introduced to the man known as ‘Crowley’ had been at the Admiral’s offices in Kingston, where he had reported for his orders. The admiral had called Crowley 'indispensable'. A 'hero' who had kept the navy well supplied in ordnance, rations and anything else the admiral might have need of. Castiel had recognised his type immediately, the kind of merchant who could politely be described as an opportunist. Without needing to be told, Castiel knew instantly from the man’s air alone that Crowley was one of these ‘merchants’ who probably supplied the navy’s enemies as well as he supplied the navy itself and profited hugely from the arrangement. Still, it was jarring, to say the least to step out onto _Impala’s_ quarterdeck and find the man himself standing there, looking every bit as smug as he had in the Admiral’s office, totally apart from the flurry of movement around him.

Benny was overseeing the unloading of shot and powder, Sam and Eileen seemed to be excitedly going through some casks of something or other while Ellen snapped that she better not catch Ash in the liquor stores now they’d been replenished. Everyone on deck chuckled, even more so when Ash protested that he would surely never do such a thing. Dean was surveying the scene from the rigging. He leaned away from it, holding on to the ropes with one hand, swinging himself around on the spot so he could watch his own deck as well as the supplies being loaded. At first glance, he looked as though he were simply exercising the captain’s prerogative to leave the heavy lifting to everyone else, but Castiel saw that behind his easy smile he was watching everything, ensuring that they got their fair share for the trade.

Castiel looked for a moment too long and was caught staring. But not by Dean.

“Decided on a career change, did we?” Crowley said with his smug, British drawl as though he were not even remotely surprised to find Castiel onboard. Castiel couldn’t help the eye roll that seemed to manifest throughout his entire body. Crowley saw it and gave a small smirk and for a moment his eyes flickered to Dean and back, “Not that I could entirely blame you...”

Castiel was on the verge of a retort, though he never got the chance to say it. Dean stepped between the two, facing Crowley as though shielding Castiel from him.

“I see you’ve got yourself a prisoner,” Crowley smiled, “No small feat.”

Dean gave a small shrug and even though Castiel couldn’t see his face, he could tell that Dean was scowling. Crowley waited on a reply but none was forthcoming.

“I can always take him back with me if you like? I’ll take care of the ransom, I can always claim it back from my _friends_ in the admiralty.”

The offer was sincere, but Castiel felt his breath leaving him. As a captain, he had long mastered the art of hiding his emotions behind a stoic facade and right now it was what saved him. He wouldn’t show Crowley that he was worried that Dean would take him up on it. But Dean surely hadn’t gone into business with Crowley without knowing exactly what kind of man he was. No doubt the powers that be knew that Crowley was supplying both sides but he would hardly want to deliver a renowned naval captain who could confirm the truth of it all. If Dean allowed Castiel to step aboard Crowley’s ship, he would not step off it.

“We’re good, thanks,” Dean said, gruffly, maintaining his spot between them.

Crowley looked between them again but didn’t push it, for which Castiel was actually grateful.

“Hey, Dean!” Ellen’s daughter, a plucky girl called Jo was holding up a pistol curiously, “Come take a look at this.”

Before he moved off, Dean gestured that Castiel should follow. “Stay close to me,” he said, under his breath so that Crowley couldn’t hear them and Castiel was happy to oblige.

Dean didn’t say anything more about it. Not while Crowley was on deck at least. He listened to Jo’s assessment of the sidearms, seemingly giving her his full attention, but Castiel noticed how his eyes would occasionally flick up to check Castiel was still close and Crowley still at a distance. He listened to Jo enough to refuse the entire chest of pistols after she deemed that they weren’t enough of an improvement on what they already had.

“How we doing for food, Ellen?” Dean called over his shoulder and Castiel was surprised to see that Ellen was still taking casks of food aboard. He arched an eyebrow, but Dean didn’t offer him an explanation, not that he was owed one, it was just unusual to see a ship that never went more than a few days from port at a time taking on enough food for almost half a year’s voyage.

The activity started to slow, but still, Dean didn’t let Castiel out of his sight, keeping him close even as he walked along the deck, ensuring everything was in order. The sun was low in the sky when Benny approached them and said in his comforting drawl, “We’re all loaded, brother.”

Dean nodded and once again looked at Castiel, almost willing him to stay close with a glance alone. Castiel frowned but followed obediently as Dean crossed the deck to where Crowley was getting ready to return to his own ship.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Dean, as ever.” His eyes rested on Castiel for a moment, and though he smiled there seemed to be something malevolent there. “Are you quite sure I can’t convince you to ransom the delicious captain to me, I'll offer you double his ransom?”

Castiel felt his heart stop beating in his chest, there was surely no way Dean would refuse that, but by way of a response, Dean folded his arms and glared.

“Shame,” Crowley said, lightly, still looking at Castiel. “You know, if you want to attempt an escape it’ll take a good half hour for my ship to get underway.”

Dean’s hand was warm where it rested on Castiel’s shoulder. “He’s not going anywhere. He’s our prisoner and we’ll ransom him back when we’re ready to.”

Again, Castiel kept his face impassive but it was a wasted effort. Crowley obviously knew he was choosing to stay, there was no way a prisoner in Castiel’s position would ignore the opportunity to escape. He should have fallen upon Crowley the moment that he’d seen him and no doubt his lack of desire to leave such company would make it back to the admiralty, if only to discredit anything Castiel might say of Crowley’s double-dealings. Still, he had a better chance of living to see the admiralty again if he stayed with Dean.

Crowley took the dismissal for what it was, “’til next time,” he said, with exaggerated fondness, slipping effortlessly over the side and no doubt clambering with as much easy down to the boat waiting for him. Dean didn’t move until he could hear one of Crowley’s men calling for the rowers to start. He breathed a sigh of relief, scrubbing his hand over his face.

“I was afraid he was gonna sneak you off or something...”

“You were afraid?” Castiel smirked, arching an eyebrow.

The fading sunlight did nothing to hide Dean’s blush. “What? Well, I just meant...You know he probably would have killed you, right?”

“I do know,” Castiel said, softly, “Thank you.”

Dean’s blush deepened if such a thing were possible, but he was spared having to think of a no doubt amazingly witty and eloquent response when Benny stepped over to them and announced that they were ready to get underway. Castiel had never seen Dean flustered before, and he couldn’t help but laugh as Dean made every stuttering excuse he could think of to excuse himself, practically tripping over his feet to get away from a fellow captain. He glanced back though, nervous looks thrown over his shoulder only for him to look away quickly when he realised Castiel was watching him.

Castiel couldn’t not watch him. This beautiful man who was apparently a pirate but acted with such honour it would put the Royal Navy to shame. Who had not only refused to hand over Castiel even when faced with the prospect of more money which would have tempted any man, pirate or not, but had insisted Castiel stay close so he could ensure his safety.

He smiled, fondly. It was becoming harder and harder to remember he was a prisoner and his first duty was to escape. Dean caught his eye and gestured for Castiel to join him at the wheel. Without even considering it Castiel crossed the deck towards him. Escape plans could wait.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel doubled over, having to hold onto the ship for support. His chest burned as he struggled to breathe, and when he did it sounded more like a choked gasp than a natural breath. Beside him, Sam seemed determined to kill him.

“...and then,” Sam breathed, wiping tears from his eyes, “he jumped from the lookout, stuck his knife into the mainsail and dropped down to the deck.”

“He didn’t!” Castiel managed to choke, scandalised.

“He did, he really did!” Sam had to pause while the two of them laughed until they could barely stand. “So he lands on deck, throws the knife into the mainmast and tells Benny to give chase and we’re all screaming that he’s completely ruined the mainsail. We can’t go anywhere until we’ve rigged up a new one and the other ship is long gone before we’ve even got the canvas down.”

Castiel gave up trying to hold himself up and just sank onto the deck, covering his face in his hands. When he’d calmed down enough to form words he looked up at Dean, who, despite keeping his eyes fixed in the distance as he steered the ship, was unashamedly grinning from ear to ear.

“You sliced through your own mainsail? _With a knife_?”

“I looked amazing though, didn’t I, Sammy?” Dean shrugged with obvious pride in his voice, “I looked damn good.”

“You sliced through the mainsail,” Castiel said again, enunciating every word as though he were slicing it through the air with greater precision than Dean had sliced through his own sail.

“And looked damn fine doing it,” Dean insisted, thoroughly unperturbed that his brother and Castiel were still struggling to regain their breath. He caught Castiel’s eye and gave him an unmistakable wink, Castiel’s breath caught, but not from laughter. This was getting out of hand. He liked Dean. He liked Dean a lot. He liked Dean more than he liked anyone he had ever met, certainly more than he should the pirate he had been sent to apprehend. And to make matters worse, Dean liked him back. Of that he was certain. How else was he to interpret the long looks when he thought Castiel wasn't looking? The small smile that seemed to be reserved just for him? The way he seemed to keep Castiel close to make sure he was safe and comfortable? 

Sam looked between the two of them and with an awkward cough to clear his throat he excused himself.

Castiel watched Dean for a long time, though Dean’s attention was solely on the ship. He might not have even noticed that Sam had left. It gave him the opportunity to look at him, though it wasn’t as though he hadn’t availed himself of that opportunity whenever he could so far. Quite simply, Dean Winchester was the most beautiful person he’d ever met, inside and out. Normally, such a thing would be beyond him to admit, even to himself, but…

But here?

With the freedom of the sea around them, aboard a ship where people were free to be themselves?

He wasn’t entirely sure what it was he was going to say, and before he’d properly considered what it was he was doing Castiel had risen and he heard himself say, “Dean?”

Dean looked over at him, but whatever would be said between them was interrupted from a hail above them.

“Sail-ho!”

The two of them instinctively looked up, even though the shout was only meant for one of them. Someone was ready to step up to the wheel as Dean stepped away from it, shouting up, “Where away?”

The distant figure at the lookout pointed, so Dean pulled his glass from his belt and looked across the sea in the general direction of the other ship. If Castiel squinted he could just about make out some sails on the horizon.

“It’s a little off our course, brother,” Benny said, having appeared from somewhere, looking out through his own glass.

In a motion that belied how naturally it had come and how little thought had gone into it, Dean handed the glass to Castiel and turned his attention to the lookout.

“Is it Roman?”

There was a long pause, while the lookout struggled to determine the answer.

“It might be one of Crowley’s...maybe Sergei?” Benny offered, but Dean didn’t seem convinced.

“This close to home? Crowley’s not that stupid and we’re way off Sergei’s routes.”

“Sorry, Dean, I can’t tell,” the call came, but Dean didn’t seem particularly bothered.

“Come about!” he shouted over to the man at the wheel, “Benny, we’re gonna need some extra sail.” He paused when he saw that Benny was looking at him, one eyebrow arched, “Look, if it’s Roman we’ll do what we do. If it’s not we’ll carry on. We’re not so pressed for time we can’t afford to take a look.”

Benny held his hands out expansively, “You’re the cap’n. Garth! Get your ass over here!”

Confident that the ship would do what it needed to do, Dean returned his attention to the horizon, taking his glass back from Castiel who watched it all with a curious detachment. It had been easy to forget that these people were criminals, violent pirates and there was something chilling about the cold indifference with which Dean surveyed their potential victim.

It was an eerie, almost out of body experience for Castiel to watch the crew running around the ship, trying to get as much speed as possible about of her. For Dean’s part, he clearly had complete trust in the competence of his crew and barely spoke except to correct someone. He did not bark orders, he merely suggested, but whatever it was would be taken as fact and acted on immediately. The crew was entirely in tune with each other and if it weren’t for the necessity of distance, Dean probably wouldn’t have even raised his voice.

“It’s one of Roman’s!” the lookout called down and even someone with no experience of the sea would not have been able to mistake the wave of hostility that rolled through the crew. Even the _Impala_ seemed to pick up speed, as though she were personally invested in the outcome.

“Run ‘em out!” Dean called, but he’d barely gotten the words out before they were drowned out by the sounds of the gun-deck coming to life. Somehow, over it all, Castiel could still hear Jo’s calls, directing the cannons and not for the first time he marvelled that she should be such a competent officer for such a diminutive figure. 

“May I?” Castiel asked, holding his hand out for the glass, and Dean startled for a moment, having seemingly completely forgotten Castiel was even there. Wordlessly, Dean handed it to him and Castiel looked out at the rival ship they were bearing down upon with remarkable speed. From its mainmast flew the neutral flag denoting them as merchants but a little below it, Castiel recognised the crest of Richard Roman’s fleet. He knew of Roman by reputation alone. In fact, it was doubtful there was anyone in the navy who hadn’t heard of him. ‘Merchant’ didn’t quite seem to do justice to the empire Roman had built beneath him, though there were some who questioned his business practices. Not that anything came of it. Vaguely, Castiel recalled that Roman had relocated the bulk of his operations to the Caribbean recently, within the last year for sure, so it was no surprise they’d come under _Impala’s_ guns. It was a little unusual though that Dean would go to so much effort for a ship, pirate or not.

“Have they struck?” Dean called up, but even Castiel could see without the aid of a glass that they hadn’t, even though they were a tiny ship by comparison, with barely a gun deck to take on _Impala’s_ cannons. “Jo? Open fire when you’re ready!” They were clearly prepared to make the pirates work for their cargo, even if they didn't stand a chance. 

Castiel braced himself for the inevitable roll of the ship as the cannons exploded as one, but it never came. Dean didn’t seem bothered. He’d said when Jo was ready and had apparently meant just that. It was a good few minutes before the first cannon fired a ranging shot, an unmistakeable cheer going up from below when the ball struck true, sending a distant wave of splinters into the sea.

“Good shooting,” Dean called down, smiling. That smile had just that very morning had Castiel’s stomach fluttering at the sight of it, but now, he felt cold. Empty. It was foolishness. He had allowed himself to forget what Dean was.

Still, reality would hardly hold for Castiel’s warring feelings and they bore down on the merchant ship, the cannons now firing in easy succession. The other ship might have been firing back, but their gunnery was hardly even in the same class as _Impala_. Occasionally, a ball would strike but they must have been using twelve pounders at best and hardly made a dent in the heavy wood of _Impala’s_ sides. By comparison, the merchant ship was barely afloat. Castiel didn’t need the glass to see the devastation wreaked upon the main deck.

“Dean,” he mumbled, reaching for Dean’s arm, as though he could stop the onslaught. “They’re done.”

Dean looked over, grimly satisfied and obviously knew that Castiel was right.

“Have they struck?” he called up the mainmast, even though they could all see the flags still flying through the gunsmoke and debris. 

“Dean-” Castiel started, but Dean shook him off.

“Have they struck?!”

“They haven’t!” the reply came, barely audible over the din of the guns. Castiel doubted there was anybody left alive on the deck to strike.

Looking back at the ship, Dean seemed to force his face into something deliberately expressionless. Jo had called for the guns to halt, having clearly seen that the other ship was somewhere beyond its last legs. Impossibly, there seemed to be silence, even though the other ship was still firing their impotent volleys. It was barely a merchant ship, more a messenger equipped with little more than carronades that could never have hoped to hurt even at such close distance.

Dean’s eyes flickered back to the mast where the crest still flew.

“Hard a’ port,” Dean called, hardly needing to raise his voice to be heard. “Jo, rake them.”

If the crew had any compunction about sinking an already defeated enemy, they didn’t show it. Not that Castiel would have expected them to, even among pirates the chain of command was to be respected. Not that any of them seemed to have any actual issue, Jo practically cheered the decision.

“Dean,” Castiel pleaded, pulling him back by the arm, “Dean, please.”

Castiel did not recognise the blank stare that looked back at him. Even if he hadn’t been too late to affect the decision, it was clear that Dean would never have changed his mind. The boom of the cannons was shortly followed by the unmistakeable explosions of a ship falling apart. Dean stepped away from Castiel, already calling for them to resume their course. Castiel opened his mouth to speak again, wanting to remind Dean that they had a duty to pick up survivors. But he couldn’t form the words.

Dean knew.

Dean didn’t care.

* * *

It was dark, or at least as dark as it could get on a clear night. The moon was mockingly bright, reflecting off the surface of the ocean and illuminating the cabin through the wide windows. For some reason, Castiel had gotten it into his head that if there was darkness he could hide from his own thoughts. But no matter how much he screwed his eyes tight shut against reality, there was no escape.

He’d been so stupid. He’d allowed himself to be taken in by Dean and the warmth of the crew. The warmth was genuine but so was the heat of the flames that had consumed the merchant ship before it was finally extinguished beneath the waves. With a huff that sounded more like a groan, Castiel shifted in the cot, as though he could escape the myriad of images assaulting him.

Dean at the wheel, laughing and carefree. The kindest, most genuine man Castiel had ever met. A man Castiel had considered a friend. More than a friend. Hadn’t he been on the very edge of admitting that he was...at the very least _fond_ of him? And hadn’t Dean given every indication that he was also... _fond_? He had looked like a hero in a painting. The very image of what an adventurer should look like. And just a few hours later, that joyful warmth was gone and replaced with a chilling, cold lack of emotion that had condemned an entire crew to death.

The sigh that escaped him seemed to hang around Castiel, lingering in the air. He was wringing his hands so tightly they were starting to hurt, but he didn’t care.

Somewhere behind him he heard the cabin doors open and Dean’s distinctive step on the deck. Just that morning the sound of it had comforted Castiel. To know Dean was so close by. Now, each step sounded like a knife in Castiel’s gut. He could hear the hesitance, he could feel the way Dean was holding his breath.

“Cas?”

The name sounded raspier in the silence, Dean’s voice sounding quite unlike him.

Castiel didn’t respond.

He had nothing to say.

“Cas?” Dean whispered again, this time reaching out to touch Castiel’s shoulder.

He’d intended to pretend he was asleep, but when Dean touched him, he flinched against it and shook him off. If possible, he managed to turn himself even further into the small cot, somehow managing to put an ocean of distance between them even though he could still feel the warmth of Dean’s fingers hovering near him.

Dean didn’t push it. He sighed, heavily, sounding as though he had the weight of far more than usual captain’s lot on his shoulders, but Castiel deliberately quashed the sympathy that rose within him. Dean had shown no such sympathy to his victims. They hadn’t even raided the ship, just destroyed it. Nothing had been gained, nothing but senseless destruction.

Eventually, Dean moved away. Silently climbing into his own cot, Dean didn’t speak again for the rest of the night. He didn’t sleep either, even in the darkness Castiel could hear his mind working, his thoughts running away with him. Dean could probably hear the same from Castiel. Neither of them slept that night. Neither of them addressed it. When the first rays of dawn broke into the cabin, Dean threw himself heavily out of bed. This time he didn’t pause to check on Castiel, slamming the door heavily behind him.

Castiel pinched his lip between his teeth hard enough to taste the copper tang of blood. Maybe he should have taken Crowley up on his offer after all.


	6. Chapter 6

For two days Castiel did not leave Dean’s cabin, as though he were imposing more of a prison upon himself than his captors had ever insisted upon. Nobody bothered him, as though by closing the doors to the cabin Castiel had shut out the entire world. Dean of course still bunked there. Twice a day he would bring Castiel food, leaving it on the side, never passing it to him directly.

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to look at him.

Sometimes, at night, when Dean finally retired for the day, Castiel would hear him moving around the cabin, trying to make himself as small as possible in his own space, just so he wouldn’t disturb him. Sometimes, Dean would try and catch Castiel’s deliberately evasive eye. Sometimes, Castiel would hear Dean sigh, “C’mon Cas...” before he inevitably turned away. At least Castiel had stopped pretending that he was asleep whenever Dean entered the room. Instead, he would stare stoney-eyed at the ceiling, or turn himself to face the opposite wall. He had expected Dean to kick him out after a day of open antagonism, but he didn’t. He seemed as morbidly content to reach out and be rebuffed as Castiel was to lie on the bed wallowing in something between self-loathing and seething rage.

On the third day, Castiel was _actually_ asleep when barely muffled voices woke him. For a moment, he couldn’t figure out how it was that he could hear voices so clearly, but then he realised that Dean had started coming into the cabin, his hand still on the door handle before he’d been called back.

“Dean, wait. This is a bad idea.” Benny was clearly just beyond the door, possibly having stayed Dean’s hand from pushing it open.

“I’m taking Cas,” Dean said, bluntly, in a tone that Castiel had never heard from him before but had used himself when he was done discussing an issue with a subordinate.

Benny sighed, heavily, “This is a long way to go to get the guy talkin’ to you again, brother.”

“It’s not about that, okay?” Dean snapped, but there was a pause in which Castiel could practically hear Benny glaring. “It’s...it’s not just about that. Look, maybe he can do something, I dunno.”

“What makes you think he’s gonna want to? He's more likely to just run up to them and tell them what you're doing.”

Another long pause and when Dean spoke again, his voice sounded far smaller than Castiel was used to. “He’s not like them, okay? He’ll care.”

Benny didn't say anything more but Castiel could tell from the silence that he wasn't convinced. When Dean pushed the door open, Castiel closed his eyes, as though he hadn’t been disturbed by the exchange. Not that Dean had any intention of questioning him one way or the other. Castiel felt his coat land heavily on the cot as Dean threw it at him.

“C’mon,” he said, shortly, not waiting to see if Castiel had even woken up, “We’re heading out.”

“Heading where?” Castiel asked, before he could stop himself. In hindsight, it was probably an apt reward for the two days of silence he had given Dean, that Dean didn’t say another word, just threw Castiel an unreadable look and then he was gone.

* * *

From the moment Castiel took his first breath beyond the confines of Dean’s cabin, he realised what a fool he had been to lock himself away. The fresh air was revitalising, and he inhaled it deeply, feeling his spirits lighten just from being in the open air. He’d put his coat on, but it felt too warm in the heat of the sun and he envied Dean’s plain shirt.

He didn’t recognise where they were, but he was surprised to find himself looking out at land. The ship had stopped a fair way from shore and the boats were being hoisted, ready for launch. The deck was full of the supplies they had acquired from Crowley and those they had plundered from elsewhere, laboriously being moved into the boats.

There were half a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue, but Castiel was too preoccupied trying to figure out where they were. It was harder to navigate by day, but he was sure he recognised the island as one of the outliers, but within the borders of the admiralty nonetheless. Dread settled in the pit of Castiel’s stomach, if Dean and his crew were going to raid one of the island settlements then Castiel would have a duty to stop them. Not that he had succeeded in protecting the merchant ship, but surely Dean wouldn’t resort to plundering civilians? Innocent people who were just trying to get by in their lives? Even by a pirate's standards that was low.

“C’mon,” Dean muttered, pointing towards one of the smaller boats that hadn’t been loaded up with anything though Sam was sitting there, checking that it had everything it needed to make the short journey to shore.

“Heya, Cas,” Sam said, with genuine warmth, his face lighting up at the sight of him.

Castiel gave a wan smile back, his voice sounding a little raspier from a lack of use when he returned the greeting.

“We’ll go on ahead,” Dean was saying, but not to Castiel, his attention on Benny who didn’t seemed thrilled that Castiel was going with the brothers. “We’ll scout the place out and figure the best way over. We’ll send up a shot if something goes wrong.” As though he sensed Benny’s unease he added, “We’ve done this a dozen times, it’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” Benny said, his eyes still fixed on Castiel.

Dean followed his gaze, dropping it when he found himself looking at Castiel, the first time in days they’d looked directly at each other. “It’ll be fine,” he said again, though Castiel wasn’t sure to whom he was speaking.

The boat started lowering, haltingly at first but then with greater smoothness as the ropes settled into their work.

“What’ you got there?” Dean asked his brother, gesturing to the bag Sam had at his feet.

Sam grinned and lifted the flap, revealing two bottles of expensive whisky.

Dean raised a brow, a grin breaking across his face. “You sneaky shit, where did you get those?”

“Took them from that third ship we hit, figured I’d keep them back for Bobby.”

He grinned, almost smug, but the smile that passed between them was unmistakeably fond.

The boat came to rest gently in the water and instinctively, Castiel moved to help loosen the ropes, even though he had long had a coxswain to do this kind of thing for him. Dean rigged up a short sail while Sam prepared the oars for when they’d inevitably have to make for land under their own strength.

The journey was short, but it felt longer given the awkward silence that hung between Dean and Castiel. Sam couldn’t possibly have been unaware of it, but he didn’t bring it up. Neither of them spoke until they came close enough to secure the boat.

“Where are we?” Castiel asked, figuring he would have to ask eventually.

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance, before Sam said, “Home,” but without any of the feeling sailors normally reserved for sighting land after so long away. Dean jumped out of the boat and pushed it onto the shore, pulling it to a cove on the beach where it couldn’t be seen openly.

Sam scanned the beach, before he threw his satchel across his body. “We’re good.”

“Alright, listen up Cas,” Dean muttered. “You’re about to see Richard Roman’s base of operations. Keep your head down, stay out of sight and if Sam and I duck, you duck too, got it?” Castiel stared at him, uncomprehending. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean sighed, “Just trust us, okay? If Roman’s men see you, they’ll kill you. So just stay quiet and follow us.”

Castiel was hardly enlightened, but Sam seemed to be looking at him in earnest, willing him to listen. “Alright,” he sighed, with a shrug, but even as he did so he knew that the moment an opportunity to escape presented itself, this time he wouldn’t hesitate.

* * *

There was an obvious path leading from the beach, through some woodland, probably leading into whatever village or town existed on the island, but that was not the way Dean led them. Instead, they ducked into the woods, following a trail that only the Winchesters seemed to know, pausing every few moments so he and Sam could listen out for something. Castiel had no idea from what they were hiding, or why they would need to sneak around the place that Sam had called their home.

Castiel was so deep in thought he barely noticed when Sam and Dean both dropped to the ground. The first he knew of it was when Dean pulled him down harshly, pushing his back against a series of roots that had lifted themselves from the ground. Whatever retort Castiel might have made was lost as Dean clapped his hand over Castiel’s mouth, gesturing for him to stay quiet.

They paused there for a moment before Sam and Dean cautiously pushed themselves up to look at whatever they had seen to make them hide. Slowly, trying to make as little noise as he could, he pulled himself up beside them and looked, though he didn’t quite understand what it was he was looking at.

“The hell are they doing this far out?” Sam mumbled, quietly.

Dean shrugged, “must have realised the planting was good, we better remember this for next time, they keep spreading.”

“It’s...it’s a farm?” Castiel offered, trying to make sense of the scene and why Sam and Dean were acting so dramatically in the face of it. Neither of them seemed to be preparing for raiding it.

Part of the woods had been cleared and the ground had been ploughed to create a small growing space. Castiel couldn’t quite see what was being grown, but whatever it was, there were a handful of people gathering it into large baskets. The only thing even noteworthy about it all was the man standing off to the side, watching the others work, but then, maybe he was just taking a break?

“Why are we hiding?” Castiel asked.

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but paused, gesturing with his head that Castiel should look back, his jaw set into a grim line. Castiel looked up to where one of the farmers had stumbled, taking a moment to sit back into the shade. As well she might, it was a hot day. But the man who watched apparently couldn’t stand for it and strode over to her, grabbing her harshly by the arm and all but threw her back to her work.

Beside him, Sam and Dean both flinched, as though they were both prepared to throw themselves over the roots, but held themselves back. Castiel wasn’t sure what was going on, but he could feel the wrongness of it. Castiel knew this kind of community, the kind where everyone would band together and share their resources. There was no need for this kind of violence here and the man looked tremendously out of place as he raised his hand to the girl, even though it seemed she was doing little more than asking for something. Water, perhaps.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel whispered, bluntly.

Dean gave a small shrug, “This is where Richard Roman grows his crops,” he said, with a hint of acid on his tongue. “C’mon, we gotta keep moving.”

Castiel followed, confused, though he stole a glance back to where the man was returning to his watch. He didn’t see one of the other farmers slip the girl some water, nor did Castiel know why they would have to hide such a thing.

The woodland became less dense which made it harder to avoid the groups they came across. There were those who gathered the fruit from the trees, those who cut wood, sanding it down into smooth blocks, gathering the offcuts into bundles of firewood. It was while watching some children weaving palm fronds into baskets that Castiel realised what was wrong with what he was seeing. Everyone was working. Everyone who could was involved in some task, but they weren't performing it as though it were just their run of the mill routine, they were set to it with determined haste. Everyone was working far harder than they do in their normal day. Their muscles strained from the effort and they wiped the sweat away to no real end given that they just continued toiling. Even in the shade, it was hot. There wasn’t a smile to be seen, even the children looked grim. And near every group of workers there was someone just watching, keeping an eye, the way a particularly bad-tempered Lieutenant might when there was mending to be done.

“What is this?” Castiel hissed, pulling Dean back as he made to continue. Dean rolled his eyes and tried to pull away, but Castiel held him firmly. “What is _this_?” he asked, again.

Dean glared at Castiel as though he were one of the men mistreating the workers. “This is where Richard Roman grows his crops. This is where he mines for jewels. This is where he gets his good quality wood. The other beach is good for fishing, that’s where Roman gets the lobsters for his banquets. Back in the town is where the good stuff is made. You know, the real fancy furniture for your admiral’s house, the jewellery for his wife. Most of what Roman sells starts here. He came here, found that there was a whole island of good shit to be had, he didn’t have to pay for the setup and he doesn’t have to pay for the labour.”

Castiel looked back to where two men were standing around, laughing at something the other had said while everyone else just seemed to work around them, trying not to catch their eye. Dean was still looking at Castiel, his glare fierce but there was something else there too. Something that seemed to will Castiel to see, really see what was going on.

“You’re talking about slavery.” Castiel’s voice sounded dull even to himself.

Beside him, Sam snorted, “That’s putting it kindly.”

“He can’t…he can’t do this.”

Dean gave something that sounded like it might have been a laugh in another life. “It’s this way, we’re almost there.”

They eventually came to wherever they were going, though Castiel barely paid attention, his mind reeling with the implications of what Sam and Dean had said. What he had seen. They came upon another beach, though this one was so small it could not have been used for anything. Not for boats landing, not for fishing, not for anything more than the shack that seemed to have been constructed under the cliffs. There were no workers here, no one to watch them either. It was pretty though, a small bay nestled in the cliffs with the rushing of the river that fed it the only sound to be heard. 

At the sight of the house, Dean and Sam seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief and they seemed to move faster towards it, even if they weren’t aware they were doing so. There was a man sitting on the porch, his head obscured by a cap to keep the sun off him, even though the roof of the shack seemed to be doing that well enough. Dean whistled as they approached, an innocuous thing that might have been mistaken for a bird call, but the man looked up, waving at them as they came up.

“Took you boys long enough,” he said, gruffly, though Castiel heard the warmth in his voice. Even though the man wasn’t smiling, he couldn’t have been happier to see them. He didn’t rise from his chair and Dean got down beside him to hug him, unmistakeably checking him over as he did so. “Alright, alright, I’m fine, get off me,” the man grumbled, pushing Dean away, even though they were both laughing. The man gave a polite nod, “Sam.”

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam grinned, taking Dean’s place, receiving a hug with a great deal of back-patting. The man’s eyes inevitably fell on Castiel and the fondness there turned instantly to suspicion. “Who’s this?”

“Oh...” Dean said, having gotten so caught up in the reunion that he had forgotten Castiel was even there. “Bobby, this is Cas. Cas, this is Bobby.”

“I thought you boys were only hitting Roman, how the hell did you end up with a navy captain?”

It was almost funny, the way Dean had given the orders to sink a ship that was already beaten, but seemed cowed under just the hint of admonishment from the older man.

“They saved my life,” Castiel offered, receiving gratified looks from both Sam and Dean.

Bobby snorted, “Yeah, they’ll do that,” he said, fondly, but Dean cleared his throat.

“How are things here?”

“Same as ever. Roman’s guys came to check the place out, but they didn’t find anything. If they had a brain cell between them they’d be dangerous.”

“Alright, I’ll check it out, Sam you wanna head back and signal the ship? Roman’s too far into the jungle, you’ll have to send the boats. It’ll take longer and you’ll have to wait ‘til it’s dark, but there’s no way we’ll get everything here on foot.”

Sam handed Bobby his satchel, staying long enough to hear Bobby’s snort of thanks, which sounded sincere even though he didn’t actually say anything. Sam headed back the way they came, while Dean seemed to hesitate over moving closer to Bobby.

Bobby obviously picked up on it and waved him off. “I may be a damn cripple but I can still get around my own house, boy.”

Dean stepped back, holding his hands up apologetically, as Bobby shifted himself in the chair and seemed to roll it into the house. Castiel had seen such things before, mostly in the houses of the wealthy who could afford such things, whereas what Bobby sat in had been cobbled together with whatever had been available from the looks of it, but it was not that that struck Castiel. It was the way Bobby moved it as though he was still not entirely comfortable with it. As though he hadn’t been doing it long enough to know how his body would cope with the movement.

When he glanced up, he realised that Dean had caught him staring, but before he could explain Dean just nodded. “Yeah. Roman shot him. Hasn’t been able to walk since.” Once again came the sense of dread, settling into Castiel’s gut. Dean shook his head, grimly and followed Bobby in. “That’s what happens when you tell Dick Roman he can’t do something.”


	7. Chapter 7

From the outside, Bobby’s shack hadn’t looked particularly impressive. The inside wasn’t much better. But then Dean had moved the bed from its place against a wall, and pulled away a rug that had apparently been concealing a trap door. The underside of Bobby’s house was far more impressive. The door led to a ramshackle basement, but that itself was a front for the storeroom Bobby had somehow built into the mountainside behind the shack. Someone who didn’t know it was there would never have found it, and in hindsight, Castiel didn’t blame Bobby the stern glances he kept casting towards him. Dean showing him all of this was a huge mark of trust, one that Castiel wasn’t entirely sure he had warranted. 

“Hey,” Dean called Castiel out of his reverie. “Gimme a hand?”

Obediently, Castiel started helping Dean clear some space, no doubt to make room for the excessive amount of supplies Impala was about to bring in. It was simple work, just a matter of moving empty casks and chests out of the way. Still, although they worked in silence the tension of the last few days was gone.

Castiel had questions. Several of them. But he couldn’t quite figure out how to articulate them. He wanted to know what was going on on the island, how Dean and Sam had come to fight in this way, but...he hadn’t spoken to Dean as an equal for days and Dean seemed strangely justified in sinking that ship now that Castiel had seen what he had.

“I can see you thinking, you know?” Dean murmured, forcing Castiel to realise that he hadn’t been as surreptitious with his glances as he had thought. “What is it?”

Castiel felt the blush rise in his cheeks but he forced it down with a sigh. “I think I owe you an apology.”

For a moment it looked as though Dean might wave the prospect away, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned to Castiel with almost a smile. The hint of half a smile at least. “Yeah?”

It was impossible not to smile back, knowing that Dean was going to milk this for all he could. Still, the sentiment remained. “Yes. I’m sorry I judged you so harshly for what you do. I knew you weren’t mindless, bloody pirates and I shouldn’t have treated you as such.”

Dean gave something that sounded like a ‘hm’ of satisfaction, but he finally waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

When they had cleared the floor, there was nothing to do but wait for the others to arrive with the supplies. Castiel pushed himself up onto an empty cask and looked at Dean, intently, gesturing to the box beside him. “Tell me.”

“What?”

“I want to know everything. Tell me.”

So Dean did.

He told Castiel of the idyllic community he and Sam had grown up in, how it was hard living, but fair. How the people made it home and everyone was a friend. When Dean and Sam’s parents had died it had been Bobby who had taken them in, but the entire island had made sure they were alright. It had been a good life, close enough to the other islands to trade but not so close the governor ever bothered to look in on them, as long as the taxes got paid. _Impala_ had belonged to Dean’s father, a beauty of a ship from a time when he had probably flown under a Jolly Roger of his own. A time before he’d settled down and Mary Winchester had made half an honest man out of him. Dean had practically learned to walk on that ship, so it was no surprise when he took over sailing the trade routes, taking the island’s goods to the larger ports, bringing back the goods they couldn’t get for themselves back with him.

Then Roman had come.

Dean told of a man who had come promising to make the most out of their land, to help them grow better crops, create better tools… but how all of that had soon crumbled away and instead Roman just took what he wanted, stripped the island bare and sold its treasures for a profit. He had been right, there had been areas that could have been used for farming that had gone unnoticed, but now Roman grew the crops he wanted there and used the islanders to harvest them.

They had tried everything, they’d petitioned the governor, written to the admiral, but nobody wanted to hear a word against the charming man who looked so fine at their parties. For years they had tried to do things the ‘right way’, but nobody would listen. It had taken a long time to build a crew they could trust, a crew that believed in the rightness of their cause, but they had managed it. And now, they would hit every ship bearing Roman’s flag. They would destroy anyone that flew under his colours and take back what belonged to the island, what had been taken from the people. They had hoped that they could have caused enough commotion that people would start to look at Roman, instead, he had just paid off the admiralty to send one of their best pirate catchers.

By the time the sun had set and Bobby called them up to stop lollygaggin’ and help out, Dean’s voice was hoarse from talking. Castiel had hung on every word, feeling the entire range of emotions he was capable of in a single conversation. He had been nostalgic for Dean’s childhood, grateful when Bobby had taken them in, devastated when Roman had arrived and angry, silently furious, to learn of the navy’s culpability.

He followed Dean out of the cave and they were at the base of the ladder to climb back up into the shack when Dean held up his hand, pausing them both.

“Will you help us?” he asked, and Castiel was once again reminded of the immense trust Dean had put in him. If he’d wanted to, he could have gone straight into the town, made himself known to Roman’s men and told them exactly where they could find the men responsible for the constant attacks and what they could use as leverage over them. Dean was looking at him, almost desperately. If he were the praying type, he’d probably be begging the Almighty to not let him be wrong about Castiel. This is what Benny had been talking about when he’d warned Dean against taking him.

Castiel placed a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Of course, Dean. I want to do everything I can.”

The relief that Dean felt was palpable and the grin he gave made him look ten years younger. Castiel couldn’t help but smile back in the face of such radiance. He expected the hug, or at least the half hug that came when Dean threw his arm up to grip Castiel’s shoulder, he was not expecting the kiss that followed it. It was a swift thing but fierce and full of gratitude. He pulled back so quickly, Castiel didn’t get the chance to kiss him back, in fact, his brain had barely registered that he was being kissed before Dean turned away.

Dean’s hand went for the ladder and he was on the verge of pulling himself up, when Castiel reached forward and grabbing the edges of Dean’s collar, pulled him back in to the kiss. It was messy, uncoordinated and both of them were grinning too much to actually press their lips together properly, but it was enough. This time when Dean pulled away, Castiel let him go, even if they still couldn’t stop grinning.

* * *

It had been a long time since Castiel had engaged in hard labour. As an officer, even entering as a midshipman he had never had to do the heavy lifting, though he was fit enough to manage it. The boats came up a river and into the bay beside Bobby’s shack where the goods were dragged onto the beach so Sam, Dean and Castiel could shift them into the basement.

It was backbreaking, gruelling work and after moving just a few boxes Castiel found himself wishing for his coxswain, anything to help ease the weight that screamed against his protesting limbs. But he kept going. They all did. Benny managed to navigate the boats even in the dark and still found the strength to carry twice as many casks as Sam, Dean and Castiel, putting them to shame a little.

Somebody had obviously gotten the message to the islanders, several of them came out to help.

“Aren’t you worried about Roman’s men finding you?” Castiel asked Dean as the crate Eileen and Charlie were moving slipped from their grasp and crashed against the beach.

Dean just snorted. “You kidding? They live in fancy houses on the other side of the island. They’re probably already drunk off their profits. They don’t come this far out unless they’ve got a reason to, besides we’ve got lookouts.” With a grin, Dean pushed a lighter crate towards Castiel, realising that he had just asked the question to take a breather. Rolling his eyes, Castiel took it and got back to work.

It felt as though the sun should have been rising by the time the last cask was secured, but it was still dark, the moon high in the sky showing no sign of fading. Bobby handed out some bottles of an excellent vintage to the crew who had just collapsed onto the sand, Dean and Castiel among them. Castiel wasn’t a particular fan of claret, but right now he’d drink just about anything, even if it did mean he got light headed rather quickly.

It was Benny who called everyone to attention, perfectly aware that Dean was down and down for the rest of the night.

“Alright people, back to the boats!” There was a collective groan from the various bodies spread across the beach. “I know, I know, we’ll all have a lie in once we’re back in open sea, I promise.”

That seemed to get a few of them moving, but Dean hadn’t budged.

“Come on, cher,” Benny groaned, kicking Dean in the shin.

Dean waved a hand somewhere in the air in front of him, “You guys go on, I’m gonna stay here, we’ll catch up in the morning.”

Castiel didn’t need to be looking at Benny to see how bad an idea he thought that was.

“Dean-” he started, the warning obvious in his voice.

“I know. But we’ll be back with time to spare, I promise. If we’re not, you know the plan. We can’t afford to still be here by noon.”

“Alright,” Benny sighed, moving away, calling for everyone to move out.

“You just don’t want to move,” Castiel muttered, accusingly, but he couldn’t help but smile.

He felt Dean smile back. “Perks of being the captain.”

Castiel tried to move, but his body protested too much. Instead, he settled for another swig of claret and relaxing into the cool sands.

* * *

When Castiel woke, he could have been forgiven for thinking he had died in the night and gone to heaven. He was called back to the land of the living by the obnoxious calls of the gulls that had come back to roost in the cliffs behind them, but he couldn’t hold it against them, not when he opened his eyes and found himself watching the sunrise over the bay.

Beside him, Dean stirred, his face breaking into a beautiful smile when he opened his eyes to find Castiel where he’d left him. For a moment, they were content to just look at each other, the events of the night before coming back to them in lazy increments.

Eventually, they had recovered enough of their strength to move off the beach onto the porch of Bobby’s shack. There was room enough inside for them, but it had been so peaceful, they had been content to watch the moon’s reflection cross the water and look up at the unobstructed starry sky. Dean had found them a blanket to pass the night under and they’d sat beside each other, occasionally exchanging leisurely kisses when they could find the energy to do so. Certainly, they were too exhausted to do anything else.

Dean had fallen asleep first, with Castiel tucked under his arm. Castiel had barely managed to stay awake much longer, lulled by the solid warmth of his arm around him and the steady rising of his chest. It seemed unthinkable that Castiel had woken just the previous morning hating a man that right now he couldn’t imagine not kissing.


	8. Chapter 8

Benny’s sigh of relief when Dean and Castiel made it back to the ship in the morning could have filled the sails on its own. It was a sigh that spoke of a hundred near-misses, of the long-suffering only the first mate to a man such as Dean Winchester was forced to endure. Castiel couldn’t help but laugh, though he stopped abruptly when Dean grinned and kissed his cheek in passing.

Castiel froze, caught somewhere between surprise, shock and horror that Dean had kissed him so openly. But then he noticed that not a single person seemed bothered. Beyond Sam and Benny of course, who exchanged a look, but even then, it was fond. There was nobody staring at them in disgust, nobody who even thought it was out of the ordinary. Castiel was almost giddy with it.

“Let’s get underway,” Dean announced, but the crew were already moving to loose the sails either having anticipated his orders or because Benny had told them what was coming. “Get that anchor up!” Dean shouted down to the deck below.

Castiel kept himself out of the way, watching the activity with a strange detachment. The ship was coming alive around him and with it came the low thrum of excitement that came with setting out to sea. Even though it wasn’t his ship, Castiel couldn’t help be attuned to the mood of the crew and when the wind caught the sail, pulling _Impala_ out to sea, he smiled at the anticipation that swelled within him. It was actually quite pleasant to be a part of it all without the responsibilities that came with being a captain. It had been a long, long time since he had simply boarded a ship for the pleasure of the cruise.

His eyes fell on the island and he was grimly reminded that though he wasn’t the captain, he still had responsibilities. He could not forget what he had seen on the island, what Dean had told him of Roman’s activities, activities that the admiralty was unknowingly supporting in their patronage of him. In his mind, Castiel started drawing up a plan of what he could do. The first step would be to notify the admiral that had brought him out here in the first place. No doubt, he would want to launch an investigation into Castiel’s claims, perhaps Castiel himself could volunteer to lead it. _The Seraph_ would surely still be close by… he smirked, imagining Ishim’s face when he was told that instead of returning to the fleet they were going to help the same pirates they had been sent to apprehend.

There would have to be a report to the Lords of the Admiralty, in which he could include all of this. Anything he wrote would likely end up printed in The Gazette as part of the no doubt thrilling tale of Castiel’s capture and subsequent experiences on a pirate ship. The public would eat that up and it might even provoke sympathy for the islanders, perhaps put a little pressure on the powers-that-be to do something about it. By that time the Admiral of the West Indies hadn’t put an end to it himself. The Lords would never approve the enslavement of civilians like this, especially civilians under the de facto protection of Her Majesty’s Navy and without their support Roman would no doubt founder.

Castiel was still staring at the point of the horizon where the island had been, even though it had long since disappeared from view when he realised that Dean was beside him, and from the way his eyes were dancing, he’d obviously been there for some time.

“Forgive me, I was...thinking,” Castiel smiled.

“You don’t say?”

“About what comes next,” he added, meaningfully.

Dean positively beamed at him. “I’ve been having a couple of thoughts about that myself.”

“I can’t decide whether to write my report to the admiralty before or after I see the admiral. Seeing as he’s technically my commanding officer while I’m stationed here, I should address the report to him, but I don’t think it would hurt to make a copy of it...” Castiel trailed off, aware that he had lost Dean at some point during the relatively brief vocalisation of his thoughts. “Dean? Are you alright?”

“What? Huh? Oh...yeah...I just,” a flush crept across his cheeks, “I was just… I uh...I was thinking of a different what comes next.”

Castiel arched a brow in confusion, though he was somewhat amused to see Dean so flustered.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to have dinner with me tonight...in my cabin, I mean...”

The man who had terrorised the merchants of the Caribbean had no business looking as adorably nervous as he did when he thought Castiel might not want to have dinner with him. They had had dinner together every day since Castiel had come aboard, save for the two days where Castiel had shut himself away. But that had been a matter of necessity, something they had shared in the mess or on deck, it had never been something private between the two of them.

“Is this your idea of courting me?” Castiel teased, but it had been the wrong thing to say. Neither of them were secure enough to joke about whatever it was that was blossoming between them. Dean flushed redder than if he’d spent a day under the sun and started mumbling about how it was just an idea. Before he could walk away, Castiel caught his arm and pulled him back. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, “I’d love to have dinner in your cabin.”

It was worth swallowing his pride to apologise so readily, Castiel thought, if it meant that Dean would smile at him like that again.

* * *

Castiel barely saw Dean for the rest of the day, hardly even catching a glance of him across the deck.

“He’s in the galley,” Sam offered, when he caught Castiel wandering the deck aimlessly. Castiel looked over at him, sitting in the rigging with Eileen. Both of them smiled at him knowingly. “He’s cooking your dinner.”

“Himself?”

“He said he wanted it to be special,” Eileen said, expressing her words as much with her hands as her voice.

“Oh.” Castiel didn’t know what to say in the face of the two almost smug grins that stared back at him. He had expected their usual rations but eaten at the map table in Dean’s cabin. It was as touching as it was terrifying that Dean was putting effort into it, effort that Castiel couldn’t reciprocate.

An idea struck him.

Maybe he could.

“Sam, I don’t suppose when you pulled me out of the boat my hat happened to come with me?”

Eileen caught on to the train of Castiel’s thought before Sam did. She nudged Sam’s arm to get his attention and made a series of signs which he obviously understood because his face broke into a huge grin.

“Oh yeah, absolutely, this way...”

* * *

Standing before the door to Dean’s cabin, Castiel was aware of the great many pairs of eyes watching him. He would be lying if they didn’t make him feel a little self conscious, but he also knew that the people looking at him were happy to do so, fully aware of what Castiel’s presence there meant and what it meant for their captain. It felt strange to knock on the door of the room he was practically living in, the room he had deliberately stayed out of so he wouldn’t accidentally bump into Dean and blow the surprise he himself had been preparing for their dinner. He heard shuffling from the other side of the door, before Dean opened it. He did a double take and then his jaw fell somewhere on the ground and Castiel beamed at him, totally satisfied that Dean had reacted the way he had wanted.

After all, he had been invited to dine in the captain’s cabin. It would have been an insult to turn up looking anything less than his best. Fortunately, his hat had come aboard with him, though it was in such a sorry state it was still in the orlop where Castiel had been brought when they had first dragged him onto the ship. Still, between them, he and Sam had managed to make it look at least presentable. Then he'd managed to beg a clean shirt from Benny and Eileen had pressed it while Castiel tried to fix his coat.

A naval captain’s coat was an impressive thing even when it looked as tatty as Castiel’s but he’d been wearing it as a glorified cloak around a pirate ship without Alfie to fix its flaws in between watches. Sam had needle and thread and Castiel was only a little out of practice mending the few tears in the heavy fabric. It had been a long, long time since he’d had to mend his own uniform.

Charlie offered to go to the galley and ask Ellen if she had any polish or something similar to hand. Castiel would have gone, but he didn’t want Dean to see what he was up to. Charlie had returned with a small block of fat and a ragged cloth but it would serve. He polished his epaulettes and the buttons of the coat, bringing them to a shine even in the dull light of the orlop.

By the time Dean opened the cabin door to him, Castiel looked better than he had done for any official naval function. From the way Dean looked at him, he was obviously in complete agreement.

“I believe the captain invited me to dine in his cabin?” Castiel said, lightly, after Dean had completely failed to let him in. Dean cleared his throat and shook his head, as though it would be enough to stop him staring and stepped to the side, letting Castiel pass at last.

Ever the gentleman, Castiel tucked his hat under his arm as he stepped over the threshold, though he immediately felt overdressed as he did so. Granted, that had been the point, but Dean was wearing little more than a loose shirt and a cleaner pair of pants than he had begun the day in.

The door closed with a click but when Castiel turned, Dean was still staring at him. “Cas-” he managed to breathe out. “You look...well... _wow_...I don’t even have a hat,” he added, thoughtfully, regaining his focus at last. He turned to the table he’d laid up in the cabin but looked a little deflated. “It’s...it’s not much.”

There were two plates and a candle between them. Ordinarily, it wouldn't be anything special, but Castiel could see the effort that Dean had gone to to make it look nice. He covered Dean’s hand with his own, “It’s fine. You don’t have to impress me.”

Dean snorted, “Yeah you say that, look at _you_!”

Castiel took the bravado for what it was, nervousness and in a fluid movement discarded the hat and the coat. Dean seemed more comfortable for it, though he did look a little sad to see the coat go. He gestured for Castiel to take a seat and poured them both a healthy serving of whisky, which made Castiel chuckle. He could imagine his brother captains shocked at the notion of whisky with a meal instead of a watered-down wine.

Taking the seat opposite Castiel, Dean glanced at the table nervously. “I hope it’s alright.” But Castiel only smiled, it was more than he would have expected from a ship that had recently discharged its cargo.

“Did you make this yourself?” Castiel asked, looking at the pie set before him unashamedly impressed. Dean gave a shrug which Castiel took to mean, ‘yes’ and they dug in, only for Castiel to let out a positively indecent moan at the first taste. “Dean, this is incredible!”

Dean looked over at him, a little exasperated. Castiel had dined in far greater surroundings than this and would have had his own steward to cook for him aboard _The Seraph_. There was no need for him to exaggerate. But, actually, watching Castiel dig into it as though he had not seen food for days, Dean realised that he was being serious and he couldn’t help but grin.

“I love cooking,” Dean said, quietly. Castiel looked up at him expectantly. “Used to drive my dad mad, he’d be calling for me to help set the sails and I’d be in the galley with Ellen learning how to cook for a crew. Y’know when we first started all this,” he waved his hand around the cabin in the vague direction of the ship in general, “I’d try and help Ellen out, but I couldn’t get away much. I’d have been happier not being a captain.”

He looked almost mournful, and in a strange way, Castiel found himself thinking about Roman again. How Dean had ended up in a life he didn’t want because of Roman’s profits. It was surely the least of Roman's crimes, but it made the list.

“I was always going to be a captain,” Castiel murmured, “I’d never even considered what I might want to do. I was on the books as a midshipman before I knew what a midshipman was. It’s not a practice I approve of, particularly,” he added, “but it meant that when I finished school I went straight aboard as an officer. I spent my first two years aboard one of my brother’s ships.”

“ _One_ of your brothers?”

Castiel gave a wry smile, “As I said, the navy was the only path I would ever be allowed to follow. I think for as long as there’s been a Royal Navy there’s been a brood of Novaks to sail in it.”

“And look at you now, having dinner with a pirate.”

Raising a glass, Castiel took a sip of the wine and gave a wicked smile that was totally at odds with the innocence of his tone, “I was hoping to have a lot more than dinner with a pirate.”

Dean practically choked on the piece of pie he found himself suddenly unable to swallow.

* * *

Neither of the cots in Dean’s cabin were big enough for the both of them to share, but that hadn’t stopped them. Tensioned had simmered between them, both of them knowing exactly what was about to happen, neither of them shying away from it. There was still food on Dean’s plate when Castiel had stepped towards him, laying his fork aside while Dean watched him, a small smile playing on his lips. They had looked at each other for what felt like a far longer time than it actually was, Castiel had given Dean every opportunity to move away. Naturally, he didn’t.

The kiss, when it came, had been the fulfilment of everything that had been promised in every kiss they had shared thus far. Castiel wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but somehow they moved from Castiel standing over Dean to Castiel being pulled towards the cot, his shirt pulled over his head as Dean turned the attention of his lips to Castiel’s neck.

Castiel fell heavily into Dean’s bed, somehow managing not to knock himself against the heavy, wooden sides. Not that he was distracted by it for long, not with Dean standing over him, looking down at him as though he had never seen anything so perfect. When he leaned in and kissed him, Castiel had never been kissed with such reverence, with such worship. They moved together long into the night, breathing each other’s names into the low light of the cabin, before finally, they settled, falling against each other with content, lazy kisses.

It took some adjusting before they found a way to lie beside each other, with Castiel’s head resting on Dean’s shoulder as Dean traced reverent patterns across his skin. There were kisses, many of them, long after the candles had burned down and the only light came from the moon reflected beyond the water. At times, Castiel couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or not, for surely he had never been this happy in the waking world.

And then, in barely more than a whisper, but no less assured for it, he heard Dean murmur, “Stay with me.”


	9. Chapter 9

For a brief moment, Castiel lamented the time he’d spent preparing his uniform only to discard it almost as soon as he had entered Dean’s cabin. He had said as much to Dean come morning as the two of them had prepared to go on deck and he’d donned it again, brushing the dust off it, wondering why he hadn’t just hung it up like a normal person would, instead of dropping it to the ground.

“I dunno, I appreciate the effort,” Dean had said, with a wink that Castiel had yet to learn was a sign of danger. They had at least made it as far as the cabin doors, Dean had pushed Castiel up against them before he’d dropped to his knees and showed him just how much he appreciated how well Castiel looked in uniform.

There was a knock at the door behind them and Castiel froze, but Dean didn’t seem to mind, even though at that moment his lips were quite firmly wrapped around Castiel’s cock, Castiel’s hand gripping into his hair as he tried to stop himself thrusting forward into the welcoming heat of Dean’s mouth. Dean didn’t pull off, instead he made a low, ‘hm?’ in the back of his throat, a trick which got the attention of whoever was calling him and made Castiel throw his head back against the door, trying to stifle a moan against the vibrations the sound made around him.

“Got something you need to see, Dean,” Benny called, patiently.

Dean pulled off, but covered Castiel in his hand, pumping him roughly as though he had taken it as a personal insult that he couldn’t finish with him in his mouth.

“On my way,” Dean called, his voice unfairly level, as Castiel felt a familiar heat pooling in his gut. Benny’s footsteps had barely faded when Dean swallowed around Castiel again, taking him over the edge. If Benny had remained, there was no way he would have mistook Castiel’s groan for anything other than it was. The solid wood behind him was the only thing keeping Castiel on his feet, as his knees went weak beneath him, he looked down at Dean and just the sight of him would be enough to haunt his dreams from that moment on. Dean looked right up at him, his green eyes bright but hazy as he continued to use his mouth to clean Castiel up, lapping gently with his tongue even though he knew it was too much.

“You have to breathe, Cas,” he said, gently and Castiel became aware of the burning in his chest, that his breath had left him at the moment of his release and he was too insensible to have regained it. He was vaguely aware of Dean tying his breeches and adjusting his shirt, then Dean was level with him again, kissing him gently, drawing him back to reality. Though the taste of himself on Dean’s lips was doing anything but draw Castiel back to reality.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Castiel murmured, kissing Dean’s jaw, his neck, his ear, anywhere he could reach, while Dean held him until he felt a little more stable.

“Hm, I hope not.” Dean brushed away imaginary wrinkles from Castiel’s coat. He stepped back to make sure Castiel looked presentable, though Castiel knew that there was no disguising the flush in his cheek or the haze of bliss that surrounded him. Dean lifted Castiel’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, “At least, not before you give me your answer.”

Castiel followed him out of the cabin, only stumbling a little on unsteady legs, but he regained his balance quickly enough but Dean noticed and gave him a sly grin. Benny was already gesturing Dean forward, drawing his attention to something in the distance. Castiel watched him go, turning over Dean’s question in his mind.

‘Stay with me.’

The offer brought a startling clarity to Castiel. The answer should have been an obvious ‘I’d love to but I can’t.’ It was a ludicrous offer, an impossible dream whispered in the throes of lovemaking that could never be fulfilled. Castiel had a life that could never be squared with that of a pirate. What would he do, resign his commission and spend his days beside Dean, raiding the ships of a dishonest merchant? It was ridiculous.

Dean jumped up into the rigging, leaning into it easily as he took up his glass. He looked divine.

It was tempting.

Castiel stepped forward, just as Dean called over his shoulder. “Come about.” He passed the glass over to Castiel and helped him up into the rigging. “Look.”

Castiel raised the glass and followed where Dean was pointing. There was a ship in the distance, flying Roman’s flag and making a damned poor show of turning from the pirates that had sighted them. They must have been caught by surprise.

“Dean, they’re a little off their route,” Charlie said warily, coming forward with a map she had drawn several lines over.

“They’re low in the water,” Castiel noted, taking in the size of the ship and how it seemed to be struggling to turn.

“They must have just picked up their cargo,” Dean offered, but Charlie and Castiel exchanged uncertain looks.

_Impala_ gained on the other ship with remarkable speed, which had the crew in good spirits.

Castiel remained in the rigging, watching the other ship as it failed to make any kind of effective movement. “What do you think?” Dean asked, his own ship running effectively behind him if the riotous noise from the gun deck was anything to go by.

“There’s something not right about this. Charlie?” he called, “Show me the map?”

Castiel was aware of Dean’s gaze upon him as Charlie handed him the map, but he wasn’t annoyed. In fact, he was smiling, but Castiel forced himself to ignore him looking instead between the ship and the map. “Dean, it shouldn’t be here and look at it, it’s far too low in the water. A ship that small should be able to outrun you, but they’re not even trying.”

“Probably means they’re gonna strike on the spot,” Benny called out, but still Castiel wasn’t convinced.

“How’re you doing down there, Jo?” Dean called, throwing her a mock salute when he heard whatever her answer was. Castiel didn’t hear it, he had turned his attention back to the other ship ‘ _Leviathan_ ’, he could read it now at this distance, an unusual name for a merchant vessel. While he was pondering what was wrong with the situation, the other ship moved impossibly in the water, its very decks seeming to stretch out and then Castiel saw why it was that such a ship had looked so heavy in the water.

It wasn’t the small one-decker it had seemed. The entire port side of the ship seemed to fall away and Castiel saw, just a split second before anyone else did, that it had been a ruse. A single deck painted onto a sail to lure them in, only to fall away to reveal what was no doubt the pride of Roman’s fleet; a three-deck frigate with its guns already rolled out, hidden beneath the painted canvas.

The arm holding the glass dropped and Castiel was dimly aware that he had shouted for Dean, but any sound was lost to the resounding boom of the other ship, as they opened fire with their entire port battery. It was a strategically pointless shot, at this distance they could do little more than pepper them with those that happened to land rather than deal any actual damage. It was more an announcement that _Impala_ had fallen into their trap and an effective one given how almost every one of the enemy’s shots landed.

Castiel felt the rigging beneath his feet snap and he fell backwards onto the ship, aware of both the stinging of a rope as it frayed past his face and the breath that left him as he landed heavily on his back. Not that he lay there for long, immediately pulling himself up to survey the deck. Several of the halliards would need to be re-rolled and the deck was littered with splinters and crew pulling themselves up to resume their duties, relatively unfazed by the turn of events, as only sailors could be.

Behind him, he heard Benny roar out, “open fire,” but even in the chaos, he calculated that they were on the wrong tack to do any real damage. He turned to look for Dean, but couldn’t see him where he had been standing a moment ago.

“Dean?” he shouted, but his eyes found him soon enough despite the carnage. The shot that had fallen Castiel had struck in the mast just behind him and though Dean hadn’t been hit by the shot itself, the impact had clearly knocked him down. He was arguing with Charlie, trying to push her away and use her to get to his feet at the same time while blood seemed to pour from a wound across his head.

“I’m alright!” Dean insisted, but Charlie wouldn’t let him up. “Come about!”

“If we come about they’ll have us,” Benny shouted back, taking over at the wheel.

It took Castiel a split second to judge the distance between the ships, another second to see the state of _Impala_ ’s sails and no time at all to make a decision. It didn’t even occur to him as he pulled himself up to his full height and called to Benny to prepare to come about that this wasn’t his ship and he had no authority here, which is probably why it didn’t stop him.

“Garth!” he shouted over to one of the swifter members of the crew. “I want you up for’ard, we’re going to come about but when I call, I’ll need you to run up the headsail and flat it out to starboard.” Garth stared at him for a moment, before Castiel tapped him on the shoulder, “go on!” he insisted.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed him that Dean had given up on fighting Charlie and was letting her stem the blood from what was ultimately a relatively small cut. “I need eyes on the frigate!” Castiel shouted; it was a testament to his bearing that someone moved to obey his command and he didn’t need to check who it was.

He held his hand up at Benny, the universal gesture of ‘wait’, aware that even he, the first mate, was waiting on his order.

Another volley struck _Impala_ , though mercifully they’d missed the uproll and the damage was below the waterline. There might be some flooding, but they could deal with that later, assuming there was a later.

“Come about!” Castiel shouted, dropping his hand and feeling _Impala_ respond immediately below him to Benny’s sudden change of direction. There was a moment of silence on deck as everyone seemed to hold their breath, Castiel among them, before whoever was keeping a lookout called over, “They’re turning.”

As soon as _Leviathan_ began to follow them, no doubt cursing their gunners for having wasted an opportunity with their need to reload, Castiel turned back to Benny, “Avast! Garth!” he leaned over the deck, shouting across to the lithe man at the most forward part of the ship, “Now!”

With impressive speed, the smallest sail the ship had to offer was run up and Castiel waited until it was secure before he called back to the wheel, “Hard to port!”

The wind caught the sail, just as Benny spun the wheel in the opposite direction. _Impala_ seemed to spin on her axis, coming about so sharply that most of the hands had to grab onto something to stop themselves from falling over.

Castiel practically vaulted over the railing that separated the aft deck and called down below, “Jo, you’ll have one shot with the starboard guns.”

“That’s all I’ll need,” she shouted back, which earned a good-natured cheer from those manning the cannons.

By the time Castiel returned to Benny’s side, _Impala_ had come about perfectly and swiftly enough that _Leviathan_ had completely failed to follow her.

“They can’t change tack,” whoever had been keeping a lookout laughed, but it was shortlived. They might not have been able to keep up with _Impala_ but they were still presenting a target and in moments the air was filled with the thick smoke and thunderous screams of both ship’s broadsides. Nobody could see more than a few inches ahead of them, but they could certainly hear the screams and some of them were most definitely coming from _Impala_ ’s gun deck. Someone was shouting for Sam, assuming that he wasn’t already knee-deep in viscera.

The smoke cleared in increments, and when it did a cheer went up from those who remained on _Impala_ ’s deck. Castiel himself did not cheer, but instead gave a sigh of relief. They had successfully pulled around _Leviathan_ , and were already making good speed in the opposite direction, with no chance of them following. Even if they had managed to turn the ship and tack, _Impala_ could have outrun them, but Jo’s gunners had struck true and _Leviathan_ ’s mizzenmast was no longer where it was supposed to have been.

They could have turned back. Castiel leaned over the side, assessing the damage as best he could, the port guns were still cleared for action, they could easily outmanoeuvre _Leviathan_ and capitalise on the confusion, but already the crew was clearing the deck, trying to restore some order. Castiel turned away, even though he would have happily seen Roman’s flagship at the bottom of the ocean.

Charlie was helping Dean into his cabin, while Benny kept looking back over his shoulder, ensuring _Impala_ pulled away. He caught Castiel’s eye as he passed and let out a low whistle. “That was some trick you pulled there.” Reaching out, he clapped Castiel on his back. “I don’t think any of us could have gotten out of there that cleanly.”

Looking over at the deck Castiel couldn’t help but snort. “I wouldn’t call that clean.”

Benny squeezed his shoulder, “You did us a solid, friend. I’ll get us out of here, you get in there,” he gestured to Dean’s cabin but Castiel hesitated. He glanced back at the fading sight of _Leviathan_ and sighed.

“We should probably head for Nassau.”

Benny caught the sigh and for a moment his eyes flickered to the door to Dean’s cabin.

“Alright, but you can tell him.”

Castiel glanced back one more time at _Leviathan_. He could help more with the full force of his naval connections and uniform behind him. His hand paused on the handle to the cabin and for a moment he rested his forehead against the cold wood. He could never have stayed with Dean anyway, it was pointless to have even entertained it. It really made no sense for it to hurt so much.


	10. Chapter 10

For all that he was being praised as the hero of the hour, Castiel kept himself to Dean’s cabin while _Impala_ recovered her senses. Charlie left Dean to Castiel’s ministrations, clumsy as they were, as she ducked back out to help Benny chart their course. Dean was fine, for the most part, he’d just taken a nasty knock to the head, but the blood loss made it look far worse than it actually was.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, trying to push Castiel away, even though all Castiel was trying to do was wipe the crusted blood from his brow. There was a lot of it.

“Of course you are,” Castiel said, dryly, “so you’ll have no trouble following my finger.”

He held a finger in front of Dean’s eyes, only for Dean to push it away harshly after just the smallest of movements. “You’re moving it too fast! The ship-”

Castiel braced an arm across Dean’s chest and forced him down against the cot. “The ship is fine. The wounded are with Sam and Eileen. Benny has everything under control, Ash is surveying the damage, the only thing for you to do is lie here and let me help you.” Castiel wasn’t sure if it was his words or Dean’s injuries that convinced him, but either way, the result was the same. His arms flopped down beside him and he lay back, allowing Castiel to dab at his forehead with a wet cloth. “Thank you,” Castiel whispered.

“Did we sink them?” Dean asked, his eyes hazy and unfocused.

“No. But we took out their mizzenmast, they’re not catching up to us anytime soon and they’ll need to refit before they try and take you on again.”

“Where the hell did Roman even get a frigate?” Dean growled though Castiel wasn’t entirely sure if he was asking rhetorically or not. “It was hard enough trying to keep him down when he practically spawns cargo brigs, now he’s got a warship?”

Castiel didn’t answer, squeezing the bloody rag over a bowl before helping Dean remove his shirt. Dean winced at the movement, but allowed it, realising that his shirt was ruined beyond saving. There were only a few cuts across his chest and a handful of small splinters that Castiel could easily deal with. Dean barely noticed him removing them, as he seemed to relive the battle in his mind, muttering about how unfair it was that Roman had a frigate. It didn’t take long, though Castiel wrapped a bandage around Dean’s head anyway. The larger of the cuts had stopped bleeding, but knowing Dean he’d likely open it doing something overly strenuous.

“Thanks,” Dean muttered after Castiel had gotten him into a clean shirt.

“It’s nothing,” Castiel assured him, leaving a small kiss on his forehead.

“No, I mean...what you did. That was...something.”

The small shrug Castiel gave suggested it was nothing. “I learned it from another Captain. We were in a sloop trying to outrun a frigate off the coast of Brest. We managed it, too but it’s hardly a technique I utilise often. I’m glad it worked,” he added with a huff of relief. The unspoken ‘what if’ hovered menacingly between them. _Leviathan_ had outgunned them and had the element of surprise. _Impala_ would not have survived. 

Dean tried to rise, but the pain in his head forced him back down with a wince and he settled back down. “What’s our heading?”

Castiel hesitated for a moment before he sighed, “Nassau. I told Benny to head for Nassau, I’ll disembark there.” Dean’s face fell but before he could turn away Castiel lifted a hand to cup his cheek, holding his gaze. “You asked me for my help, Dean. This is how I help you.”

“I also asked you to stay,” Dean said, almost petulantly, but he couldn’t seem to stay annoyed with Castiel’s hand so comforting against his face.

“And I would have,” Castiel said, with an unabashed honesty that surprised them both. “Dean, you are the most remarkable person I’ve ever met. The things we’ve experienced...” he rolled his eyes as Dean gave him a wicked wink, “I never thought I could have this with anyone. You are remarkable. This ship is remarkable and frankly, it terrifies me how willing I am to walk away from everything I’ve known, my career, my life, to be here with you. But, at least there I’m in a position to help you, _actually_ help you, not just getting lucky with some ridiculous manoeuvres.”

The huff Dean let out was at odds with the small smile playing on his lips and he took Castiel’s hand in his, tracing soothing circles against it. “Y’know when we brought you aboard, we were just gonna do our thing and drop you off. Then I got to know you and thought hey this guy might get it. Then you had to get it too well and be all understanding and gorgeous. You get it so much I can’t get you to stay.”

Leaning in, Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s, a gentle whisper of a thing, but no less meaningful for it. “I’ll go see how things are, you stay there.”

Dean’s hand shot out to grab Castiel’s when he rose. “You’ll come back, right?”

In reply, Castiel kissed him again. “Of course, I’ve got nowhere else to go,” he grinned. Dean laughed, but the motion immediately made him recoil and he settled for slapping Castiel’s hand away instead.

* * *

There wasn’t much to be done on deck. The hands had cleared away the debris and set to work repairing what they could. Benny had allowed everyone extra meat at dinner and broken out the good whiskey for them. Enough to celebrate, not enough to get them drunk. Castiel understood, he’d need them back at work once they were done and for that, they’d need level heads. Impala had gotten off lucky, given how many of Leviathan’s cannons had found their target. But Ash, an eccentric even by the standards of Dean’s motley crew, had shored up all the major issues.

Everyone was in surprisingly good spirits except Sam and Eileen who were, naturally, exhausted. They had come up on deck when Castiel passed them. No doubt they’d only intended to take some air, but they had fallen asleep against each other. He thought about waking them so they could at least return to Eileen’s cabin, but before he could, Benny came by and wrapped a blanket around the two of them. Between that tender gesture from a man who looked like he could break a man’s neck with his bare hands and the way Charlie and Gilda tested the sturdiness of the new rigging by racing each other up and down it, Castiel felt a pang of sadness in his gut. He'd be leaving this camaraderie soon.

In the mess everyone was falling over themselves, in some cases literally, to congratulate Castiel on his excellent seamanship. He waved them off, but he couldn’t help but grin under their open affection. Someone mussed his hair, another braced his arm across his shoulder and gave him an exaggerated kiss on the cheek. The most he’d ever received by way of thanks in the Navy was the one time Balthazar had said, ‘bloody good show’ when they’d successfully negotiated a hurricane and the note of commendation from the admiralty for the “satisfactory and successful discharge of his duty” catching pirates in the Mediterranean. Jo had all but jumped on him, even though it had been one of her gun crews that had pummelled Leviathan into submission. Ellen had already laid out two bowls for Castiel to take back to Dean’s cabin, but before she passed them over to him, she leaned over and tapped his face, affectionately. “You did good,” she said, smiling at him the way a mother might. Not Castiel’s mother, of course, Castiel couldn’t remember if she had ever smiled, let alone look at him the way Ellen was.

Dean was lying exactly where Castiel had left him. He pushed himself up a little on his elbows when Castiel drew near and beamed at him. “Oh thank God, you brought food.” As soon as the plate was within arm’s reach, Dean took it, while Castiel sat beside him and they ate in silence. Castiel cleared up in silence, he took off his shirt in silence and he settled beside Dean in silence.

He could feel Dean looking at him. “Hey, you okay?”

Castiel practically buried himself against Dean’s chest, pulling him impossibly closer. Even in the quietness of the cabin, his voice could barely be heard when he made his reply. “I want to stay.”


	11. Chapter 11

Dawn found them clinging to each other, as they had all night. Castiel hadn’t slept much, but Dean thankfully had drifted off though Castiel couldn’t say when it was. He still had no idea how _Impala_ marked their watch changes without a bell chiming the change. Dean hadn’t wanted to doze, but Castiel had whispered his assurances that it would be okay and even if he hadn’t, the exertions of the day would have caught up with Dean eventually. He’d fallen asleep and Castiel had watched the moonlight play across his face until the sun had risen.

Castiel hadn’t intended to wake him, not really. He leaned in and pressed gentle kisses along the line of Dean’s jaw, revelling in the way the stubble scratched his lips. Dean shifted a few times and he smiled before his eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” he said, but that was as far as he got. Castiel pushed himself up, so he could reach Dean’s lips and kissed him, softly at first but when Dean kissed him back he couldn’t help but lean into it. He allowed his lips to part, allowing Dean to taste him, not knowing which of the two of them moaned into it. Perhaps it had been both of them. The effect was the same. Their kisses became desperate, fiery things, only paused for the sake of their breath.

With his arm wrapped firmly around him, Castiel pulled Dean under him, rearing up to straddle his hips, looking down at him in pure adoration. Dean reached up to cup his cheek and Castiel nuzzled his hand, determined to savour each sensation, to remember every single moment of this, their last time together. Dean caught his eye and his meaning, the way his lips twitched downwards told Castiel as much, but he couldn’t have that. Not on their last night. He took it as a personal challenge to remove that look. Starting by kissing every inch of skin bared to him. Moving from his neck, Castiel worked down across his chest. Dean’s skin was warm against him but cool when he drew back, so he let his breath ghost over it, watching goose-pimples break out across Dean’s chest, his abdomen. He went lower, his lips a brand searing every blemish, every muscle he touched into Castiel’s memory. He never wanted to forget the salty tang of sweat on his tongue, the way Dean arched underneath him, the breathy moans that he sometimes managed to steal from him. It was bliss.

With deliberate patience, he angled himself so the head of his cock would brush against Dean’s, marvelling how Dean threw his head back at the first frisson of pleasure that sparked through them. Taking them in hand, Castiel thrust against Dean who tried to roll his hips but couldn’t get the leverage from where he lay, pinned beneath Castiel. Not that it took away from the experience. If Benny came to the door now, there would be no way to stifle the sound of what was happening in the cabin, perhaps he could hear it already, but there was no stopping them. With firm, measured strokes Castiel took his weight on his free arm, swallowing the moans that fell from Dean’s lips, mingling them with his own.

He wanted to take his time. Oh, the things he wanted to do to this man. _With_ this man. But at any moment the cry that they had sighted land could come, this was no time for finesse. Dean came first, his eyes screwed shut as he tried desperately to find Castiel’s lips with his own, but Castiel had drawn back, determined to watch, to see, forcing his eyes open even as he felt his own release paint their stomachs, intent on not missing a moment.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, pulling Castiel in close so that he could devour him. And Castiel let him. He let Dean kiss everything away long after the aftershocks of their pleasure had died away, long after they should have separated so they could make themselves look presentable. Even after the kiss started to taste wet and salty, Dean kept kissing him as though he could keep the real world at bay with his tenderness.

And Castiel let him.

* * *

“Say you get them to listen to you, say they shut Roman down,” Dean murmured against Castiel’s shoulder, so quietly that if they hadn’t been so close Castiel would surely not have heard it. “What will you do then?”

Castiel stretched a little, thinking for a moment. “See what’s become of my ship and head back to Britain, I suppose. I’ll be needed, there’s still a war on, though this has been an interesting diversion.”

Dean snorted, “Oh, well, I’m glad I could entertain you.”

Taking Dean’s hand in his, Castiel kissed his fingertips and said, looking at him openly and honestly, “you are more than entertaining. You are everything.”

Hearing such things was clearly a new experience for Dean and he flushed bright red, stumbling over a response, “Yeah well...your face is...everything...” he trailed off, but they both laughed anyway. Eventually, Dean sighed, “So, you go back to your uniform and I stay here...raiding uppity merchants and trying to rebuild.”

“At least I’ll know where to find you,” Castiel murmured, unwilling to release Dean’s hand, as though it could anchor him to the moment.

“Don’t say that,” Dean said, flatly, “Don’t say you’ll come back.”

Castiel pushed himself up, resting his head against his hand so he could look at Dean. “But I might. After the war, I could-”

“You could what, Cas?” Dean sighed, suddenly frustrated, “You could survive the war, resign your commission, come back out here and stay with us? Yeah, you could, _or_ you could die before you even make your report, we’re not the only pirates out here. You could end up at the bottom of the British Sea or you could change your mind, meet someone way more suited to you or you could stick around there long enough they have to make you an Admiral. Whatever you decide, I’d never know. I’d be looking for you, always and I can’t-” he sucked in a breath so sharply it must have been painful, “When you leave tomorrow, you’re gone. You might come back, God I hope you come back one day, but don’t tell me you will because I’ll hold you to it and you might not deliver.”

For the longest time, Castiel just stared at him, warring feelings within him. He was hurt and even more hurt by the implication he could ever find someone in his life that would be better suited to him than Dean. Dean. He had absolutely no intention whatsoever of finding himself a society wife who would look good on his arm at the admiral’s table. Ultimately he settled for, “You know there’s no such thing as the British Sea.”

Dean’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I want to come back,” Castiel whispered, “but...I understand. I...I won’t,” he breathed deeply, “I won’t make any promises and you won’t have to look for me.”

Before he could look away, Dean hooked a finger under Castiel’s chin and kissed him, firmly. He didn’t say anything, but then, he didn’t need to. Besides, if he did then one or both of them might say something they didn’t mean, something that they might regret and couldn’t take back before they parted. So they said nothing, There were long, almost mournful gazes, soft kisses and gentle touches before Castiel sat up so suddenly he almost gave Dean another head injury.

He looked around the cabin, to the window, to the floor before he realised, “We’re not moving.”

“No, we haven’t been for a while.”

“Why didn’t they call us? They, _oh_ -” it struck him that Benny would, of course, have known to call Dean when they sighted land and certainly when they dropped anchor. The only reason to not was to let them come out in their own time, to not rush them. As an act of kindness it was touching, but it only served to cut deeper into the pain Castiel was already feeling.

What he wouldn’t give to be able to stay.

* * *

The port of Nassau was in sight, but it gave Castiel no pleasure. The boat was ready to take him in and most of the crew had gathered to see him off. None of it was helping Castiel say goodbye. There was an excessive level of hugging led by Garth for some reason. Jo hugged him, Charlie hugged him, everyone hugged him, even Benny. Dean didn’t touch him, but then he’d already decided he was going to row Castiel out himself, they would say their goodbyes on land. It delayed the inevitable, but both of them would take it.

“You come back soon, you can show us how it’s done any time,” Benny said, slapping him on his shoulder as Ellen handed him a satchel of food she’d prepared for him.

“It was great meeting you,” Sam said, warmly, pulling him into yet another hug. Castiel had never seen such affection let alone been on the receiving end of it. Eileen signed a farewell and Castiel responded in kind, surprised that he had picked even that much up in such a short space of time. He was glad he had though, it was worth it to see her face light up.

But there was only so long he could drag it out and in what felt like no time at all he was in the boat, rowing away from _Impala_ , able to appreciate for the first time how fine she looked in the water. He and Dean didn’t speak, there was nothing left to say even though Castiel found he had so many thoughts and feelings lurking just below the surface, if he’d opened his mouth to speak a word, they would have all tumbled out.

The journey to the jetty was unfairly short. Likely, it hadn’t been, but it felt it. It could never have felt long enough. There were several important-looking officials already waiting, having seen a notorious pirate ship weigh anchor, they were no doubt here to see if Dean and his crew wanted to take advantage of the governor’s offer of a pardon if they hung up their guns. Dean rolled his eyes at the mere sight of them.

“Alright,” he breathed, unable to delay what they had been trying to delay since Castiel had made his decision. “This is where I leave you.”

Castiel was sure he’d stopped breathing, but his heart seemed to be pounding harder than ever in his chest. “Dean, I-” he broke off, there was nothing he could say that he had not already said. Nothing he could do that he had not already done, so he did not try. Instead, he swallowed down the lump in his throat, held out his hand and said, levelly, “I hope I see you again.”

Dean looked just as miserable when he took it. For this to end with a handshake seemed a more barbarous act than any _Impala_ had committed. But the officials were watching them and they had already said their more intimate goodbyes.

“Goodbye, Cas,” Dean said, his voice sturdy enough but Castiel recognised the front for what it was. He covered Dean’s hand with his own and held it there for a moment before finally, he broke away. He allowed one of the officials to help him out of the boat.

“I am Captain Castiel Novak of _H.M.S Seraph_ , I need to arrange transport to Kingston,” he said to them, hearing Dean lower the oars behind him and start to row back. One of the officials was saying something, but he didn’t hear it even though he was looking right at him. They gestured him to follow and Castiel did. He didn’t turn around. He couldn't trust himself to keep his composure watching Dean Winchester row away from him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be the last chapter but...it started to get real, real long and I honestly had a blast with this chapter so I'm just gonna roll with it :D

In the end, Castiel bartered a trip on a little more than a glorified fishing boat, looking considerably out of place among the ragged fishermen in his captain’s uniform, even if the shine had worn off a little. The crew, all ten of them, left him alone, so he gave them a wide berth noticing that their easy camaraderie with each other didn’t extend to passengers. The captain had not offered his cabin, despite the considerable amount Castiel had paid for passage and so Castiel slept on deck, using little more than his coat for warmth. He could have insisted of course, but sleeping on deck suited his mood. It seemed oddly fitting to leave the warmth of Dean’s cabin for the chill of the deck.

He had expected nothing to be able to lift his spirits and certainly nothing had so far, but his heart couldn’t help but swell when Kingston came into sight for the first time and his eyes fell upon the unmistakable shape of _The Seraph_ in the distance. For the first time since they had parted his thoughts weren’t of Dean. Instead, he begged a telescope from the de facto captain and took in every inch of his ship, a sigh of pure satisfaction escaping him without intent. His first thought when he had seen her hove-to was that she had been damaged, but there was not a scratch on her. Whatever she was doing here, it was a matter for the crew, no doubt Ishim was arguing the case for them to return to the Channel. The smirk that spread across Castiel’s features was unbecoming of a captain of His Majesty’s Navy as he imagined how annoyed Ishim would be to step back down under Castiel’s command. He was just the type to have enjoyed his position as acting captain a little too much.

Some commotion on the other side of the transport distracted him and he glanced over his shoulder to see several of the crew pointing and discussing one of the other ships at port. They stepped aside when Castiel approached them and one of them gestured that he should look through the glass.

“Looks like Mr Roman had a run-in with some pirates, sir.”

Already Castiel could see that the other ship was _Leviathan_ , and it looked as though they had started work repairing their lost mizzenmast, but it still gave him a grim satisfaction to look through the glass and see the visible damage that Impala had wrought upon her. That _he_ had wrought upon her. He returned to the other side of the ship so he could look back on _The Seraph_ , basking a little as he heard the others mutter about how they wouldn’t want to run afoul of such a captain.

* * *

More than anything, Castiel wanted to go straight to his ship, but there were protocols to follow. Before he did anything else he had to report to the Admiral. In hindsight he should have written his report on the journey over, then at least he’d have something to present and could run back to _The Seraph_. He wondered how Balthazar was coping under Ishim’s attempt at command, he wondered if Alfie was alright.

He leaned back in the chair he’d been asked to wait in. The halls of Admiralty House seemed even more impressive than usual, but that was probably because Castiel had spent the last weeks between a pirate ship and a fishing boat. He hadn’t had an appointment, of course, he hadn’t. It wasn’t as though he could have let them know in advance when to expect him back, but the footman had told him to take a seat and the Admiral would be with him soon. The formality was almost irksome. Castiel couldn’t quite figure out how he’d never noticed it before. It was something of a revelation to realise he’d been so steeped in convention he’d never appreciated how stifling it was.

“Castiel!” the Admiral boomed, coming out into the hall to find him. Zachariah Adler was not a man to speak, he always boomed. His round physique was a testament to just how long it had been since he had to run up the rigging or duck below deck. The man probably hadn’t stepped foot on anything more than a passenger brig for several years. Assuming he could bring himself so low to travel on such a thing. Nevertheless, Castiel stood to attention, feeling a little self-conscious of the shabby state of his uniform in such pristine surroundings. Dean wouldn’t have minded it.

“You’re alive, by God!” Zachariah shook his hand while simultaneously pulling him towards his offices.

“It seems so, sir,” Castiel said, a little sheepishly.

“Sit down, sit down, we thought you were dead for sure after all that unpleasantness...”

Castiel took a seat opposite the Admiral’s desk, a grand hardwood thing with embellishments of gold leaf.

“Yes, the pirates were-”

“Pirates?” Zachariah interrupted, “I was talking about your ship, nasty business that.”

Something cold crept around Castiel’s gut and his voice cracked a little when he spoke again. “My ship?”

Zachariah rolled his eyes as though he were explaining something particularly simple to a small child. “That first Lieutenant of yours, Ishim, we have him below awaiting trial. He had a bow-chaser sabotaged and left you for dead, using the pirates as a cover. Your second discovered the whole thing and arrested him. He’ll be court-martialled and he’ll hang for sure. Nasty business, trying to kill your captain. Unthinkable...”

The Admiral carried on rambling about Ishim’s nerve and cowardice, but it all washed over Castiel, reeling as he was. Ishim had tried to kill him? It had been well done at least, Castiel had had no idea. “How did Balthazar figure it out?” he asked, cutting Zachariah off abruptly, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“There was no other damage after your skirmish, it seems the pirates were firing powder instead of shot, if you could believe such a thing...”

He remembered Dean, scratching the back of his neck nervously, ‘Don’t look at me, it was nothing to do with us.’ But even so, Castiel could only stare.

“Ishim...tried to kill me?”

“Well, he did a pretty poor job of it, obviously. You’ll be required to give evidence of course, it’s why _The Seraph_ is still in port, I’m waiting on Balthazar and your Raphael to arrive so we can start the proceedings. It shouldn’t take long and then you’ll be back fighting pirates as God intended.” Zachariah sat back, almost thoughtfully in his chair, “I suppose you saw _Leviathan_ on your way in. Nasty business, she caught Winchester by surprise and he still got the better of her. If I’d known Roman’s men were such poor seamen, I wouldn’t have been quick to sell him the ship.”

“Actually,” Castiel said, taking a breath to steady himself, “I’d like to talk to you about that. About Mr Roman’s...business dealings. It seems there is an island, one that technically belongs to us and Mr Roman has-”

Zachariah’s hand shot up, stopping Castiel before he could continue. “There’s plenty of time for that, you should report back to your ship and get settled-”

“But sir-”

“We can talk again when you’re more recovered from your ordeal and...” he cast an unapproving eye over Castiel, “presentable.”

“Sir, I really think-”

But the Admiral was already ringing the bell to have the footman escort Castiel out.

“Make your report,” Zachariah said, “All of this can wait, though I would caution against casting aspersions against Roman’s reputation. He’s very well-liked around here and he doesn’t take insults kindly.” Idly, his hand tapped the edge of his desk, “He found me this desk, you know...”

Castiel sighed, but managed to hold his tongue. There would be other opportunities and he really did want to make it back to _The Seraph_. Besides, Zachariah was right, he was exhausted. He could go back to his ship, write his report and once it was in writing there would be no denying Roman’s corruption.

* * *

There were several boats at the docks, offering their services to row people out to the various ships anchored around the bay. Castiel slipped a couple of gold sovereigns to the rowers and ignored their questioning looks. He would hardly be the first captain they’d have rowed out to their ship, but it was certainly more usual for them to use their own boats with their own men in their own livery. Castiel paid them no attention, his eyes fixed firmly on _The Seraph_. He wrapped the boat cloak he had borrowed from Admiral House around himself, even though it wasn’t cold, and let them row him out.

“Boat ahoy!” the shout came from the lookout as they approached.

“The Seraph!” the man in charge of the dingy called back, alerting them that the captain was coming aboard, but given that they were under the impression Castiel was dead, he was hardly surprised for them to ask again when they came to rest beside the ship.

“Captain coming aboard!” the man shouted up to the crew that peered over the edge of the ship. Castiel heard the murmur of confusion sweep across deck before the familiar voice of Balthazar met them, albeit a little more harranged than usual.

“What’s this? Which captain?”

“ _Your_ captain!” Castiel called up, more amused than anything else.

There was a momentary hush before he heard Balthazar distinctly say, “Oh bloody hell.”

“Captain coming aboard!” someone shouted and Castiel gave them a moment to collect themselves. He wasn’t a tyrant that would pull himself up and berate them for not giving a proper welcome, in fact, he was thoroughly amused by the whole thing.

Balthazar’s shout was as clearly heard from the boat as though Castiel was on deck beside him. “Boatswain’s mates! Side-boys, lively boys, lively!”

Castiel he threw an additional coin to the bewildered rowers and waited until he heard the first trill of the tin whistles before he hauled himself up the side, towards his own deck. His boots landed heavily on his own ship at last and for a moment he almost forgot to remove his hat and salute the quarterdeck, but the dazed salute from the gathered hands reminded him.

The drum roll died away as he returned his hat atop his head, but nobody moved. Nobody except Balthazar who grabbed Castiel by the shoulders, looking into his face as though it might possibly be a trick.

“Well, I’ll be damned, it’s really you,” he murmured, before pulling Castiel into a backbreaking and thoroughly inappropriate bear hug. It would never do to have such an open display of affection in front of the hands Castiel thought, vaguely, right before he wrapped his arms around his friend and hugged him right back.

Behind him, he heard his third Lieutenant, Kelvin, dismissing the men from the deck, quietly at first before he finally snapped, “Alright, back to work with you!”

Balthazar drew back without a hint of shame or embarrassment and checked over every inch of his captain. “Look at the state of you, Cassie,” he huffed in disapproval. Castiel didn’t even reprimand him for the nickname he despised. “Come on, Alfie will be so glad you’re alright. We thought you were dead, you know?”

“I heard,” Castiel said, speaking for the first time. “I also hear we are to testify in Ishim’s court-martial?” Balthazar gave just the smallest of smiles in response, but Castiel took his hand and squeezed, gently. “Thank you, Balthazar.”

“Well, I’m not sure where you’ve been these last few weeks but I must say I approve,” Balthazar said, opening the doors to Castiel’s own cabin, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so relaxed.”

In his mind’s eye, Castiel saw a flash of green eyes and he blushed a little. Balthazar noticed, of course, he did, but thankfully before he could press for an explanation or launch into good-natured teasing, they were interrupted by Alfie and the smashing of the tea tray he was clearing away when he realised that his captain was alive.

* * *

Balthazar, of course, wanted to know every detail of Castiel’s miraculous appearance given that the last they had seen of him was the flash of his coat disappearing over the edge of the ship. Castiel told him everything. _Almost_ everything. But Balthazar had known him too long and too well to not notice the way Castiel inevitably softened whenever he mentioned the Impala’s captain. It was a testament to how relieved Balthazar was to find his friend alive that he didn’t try and wheedle the information out of him, and instead was content to just listen to the story.

“I tried to tell the Admiral,” Castiel sighed, drawing the tale to a close, “but he didn’t seem particularly interested.”

“Well of course he isn’t,” Balthazar shrugged, “You’re talking about Richard Roman, Zachariah is just one of his friends, he has more and a lot higher up than a Vice-Admiral of the White. You won’t be able to touch him, Cassie.”

“But what he’s doing...it’s wrong,” Castiel said, glaring at Balthazar as though he were personally responsible for Roman’s atrocities.

Balthazar held his hands up, defensively, “I don’t deny it. But he’s well connected, he has money and he’s responsible for outfitting half the West Indies. What can you do against that?”

Castiel huffed, irritably, not wanting to admit that Balthazar was right and not ready to give up either.

“I have to write my report,” he said, abruptly, a cue for Alfie and Balthazar to leave.

“Alright, but don’t mention Roman in it.”

“Obviously, I’m going to mention Roman in it.”

“Cassie,” Balthazar said, as patiently as he could muster, presuming on their many years of friendship to speak out of turn. “If you pick this fight, at best you’ll lose your ship. Zachariah will post you to the arse end of nowhere and you’ll be ferrying despatches for the rest of the war.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, “I can handle Zachariah, my brothers-”

“-could probably help you take on Zachariah, sure, but _not_ Roman. The guy was at court just last month, Zachariah _gave him_ a frigate. We were pulled from blockade duty to sail halfway across the world just because Roman’s ships were sinking and you’re one of the best pirate catchers in the service. Not even your brothers can help you against that kind of power, and to be frank, I don’t think they’d even want to.”

“What he’s doing is wrong.”

“Of course it’s wrong, but that kind of corruption breeds corruption. Just...” Balthazar sighed, heavily, clearly unsure that any of his words were actually getting through to him, “just be careful, Cassie. I’ve already held one funeral for you this week, I don’t want to hold another one.”

Something in his tone gave Castiel pause. They held each other’s gaze for a long time before Castiel nodded, “I’ll be careful.”

“Thank you,” Balthazar breathed. He brushed out imaginary creases from his coat and settled his hat smartly where it belonged. “I’ll be on deck,” he said, unnecessarily, leaving Castiel alone in his own cabin, which already felt so foreign to him, even though his effects were still about the place.

It didn’t feel like home though and with a sigh, he pulled a blank sheet of paper towards him and started ordering his thoughts.

‘ _Sir,_

_As instructed by my orders I ordered The Seraph to engage with the pirates Impala on the 14 th April...’_

* * *

“ _What in God’s name is this?!_ ”

The sheaf of papers in Zachariah’s hands slammed against the table, but Castiel remained unfazed, keeping his expression deliberately neutral. Eyes front, chin up, he’d endured worse from far more trying people than what he was about to suffer under Zachariah.

Steeling his voice, Castiel replied, “It’s my report, sir.”

“Its bloody slander is what it is, I won’t accept this.”

Castiel cocked his head and said again, “but, it’s my report, sir. You must accept it.”

“ _This,_ ” Zachariah hissed, “is some romantic nonsense about pirates and the slander of a good man. I accept Winchester saved your life and you weren’t as mistreated as you might have been...” Castiel kept his face stoic, he had mentioned of course that the pirates had treated him well by the standards of pirates. He hadn’t said how well, of course and kept any mention of Dean by name vague and nebulous. “...but you’ve made them out to be bloody heroes. You know after this court-martial you’re going right back out there to sink them, I’ve half a mind to court-martial you!”

It was a dangerous game Castiel was playing and he had to make sure he didn’t say or do anything that he could actually be court-martialled for.

With a few deep breaths, Zachariah seemed to calm a little. “This time with the pirates has obviously affected you. Richard Roman is a personal friend of myself and several prominent officers, most of whom will be at his home tonight to celebrate the relaunch of _Leviathan_. I don’t know what fantasies the pirates fed you, but you shall not use them to tarnish the reputation of a man who has kept the fleet afloat. Will you retract your report.”

“I will not and might I humbly suggest that it is because he has such friends among the senior officers that Roman feels himself above the law in the first place.”

For a moment, Castiel felt as though he might have gone too far. But then the admiral’s eyes narrowed, dangerously so, and he stepped towards the fireplace. It wasn’t lit at this hour, not with the heat being what it was. There was a candle burning atop it though and Castiel was hardly surprised when Zachariah lifted his report to the flame, throwing it into the grate once it had caught.

“Did you know about the communication problems we’ve been having?” he asked, casually. “Despatches going missing, not making their intended destination. It’s most inconvenient.”

“Indeed,” Castiel said, as though he were simply observing the weather, “I did not know about the communication problems, however in light of them I am glad I enclosed a copy of my report when I wrote to my brothers.”

“You think Raphael will help you? He’s sailing here under my orders, if I order him to surrender the report he will.”

Castiel’s back was aching from standing to attention for so long, but he wouldn’t drop his posture, not even to alleviate the pain a little. “As he should, you are the admiral after all.” It was a tedious game, dancing around the issue, unable to challenge each other directly, but at least Castiel could see from the twitch in Zachariah’s eye that he was having a far harder time keeping his cool than Castiel was. The thought only calmed him further. “Though he might be less inclined to share our personal correspondence with you.”

“I don’t think Raphael likes you nearly as much as you think he does.”

“True, Raphael and I have never quite seen eye to eye. But, all of us have an unspoken agreement to not interfere with the other’s business, particularly when it concerns Michael.”

Zachariah’s face paled, as Castiel knew it would. “Michael?”

“I do beg your pardon, sir,” Castiel said, coldly, “but I do not believe you are on first name terms with my brother.”

Zachariah took the rebuke, as he had to, and through gritted teeth said, “My apologies. You mean, the Lord Admiral, Sir Michael Novak?”

“Quite so.”

There was silence for a few minutes longer before Zachariah pursed his lips and clicked his teeth, evidently having come to a decision about something.

“I have your second and third lieutenants’ written report as to what occurred between yourself and Mister Ishim aboard _The Seraph_. I don’t think you’ll be required after all. You will leave at first light with _Leviathan_ where you will proceed to execute your original orders of hunting down Winchester and his lot. You will provide _Leviathan_ with full assistance and I need not remind you of the penalty of failing to engage the enemy. Your orders will follow, good day, sir.”

Castiel took the dismissal easily, even though it wasn’t what he had wanted to hear. Zachariah didn’t even summon the footman to show him out, he just opened the door and slammed it behind him after Castiel had stepped out. The sound rang around the hallway, but Castiel was more immediately concerned with the cracking in his neck and back as he finally allowed himself to stretch them out.

“Well, well,” a quiet sneer came from the chair in the Admiral’s hall, “Loverboy cut you loose?”

“Crowley.”

Crowley regarded him over steepled fingers. “Well, I suppose I don’t need to worry about you saying something that might things awkward for me. I’m intrigued how such a choir boy could piss off the boss.”

With a roll of his eyes, Castiel straightened his uniform, “It seems the Admiral does not appreciate the reputation of his friends impugned.”

“Ah. I don’t suppose that friend would be the soon to be Sir Richard Roman, would it?” Crowley asked, lightly, with an air that suggested he knew precisely that it was.

“How did you know that?”

Crowley snorted, “Because, my dear Castiel, that’s exactly why I’m here.”


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel breezed past the officers that greeted him on deck, “Send for my steward and inform him I won’t be dining onboard tonight. Balthazar, do you still have the buckle I gave you at Gibraltar, I may need to borrow it.”

Beside him, he could _hear_ Balthazar narrowing his eyes. “Why? What have you done?” He followed Castiel into his cabin, though Castiel didn’t seem to mind. Alfie came rushing through the door, a little breathless from the unexpected urgency. Castiel couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d had to actively send for his steward, he was usually just _there_ , but then nothing about this situation was particularly normal.

“Ah, Alfie. I’m going to a banquet this evening, you’ll need to press my spare uniform,” he looked down at the sleeves of the coat he had been wearing since the day he’d been thrown from _The Seraph_. “I think this might be beyond saving, even for you. Balthazar has a buckle I can wear, but you’ll have to get a dress shirt out of my dunnage, I don’t think we ever unpacked them.”

“Yes, sir,” Alfie muttered, already turning to obey. Castiel breathed out, a weight leaving him, he knew Alfie would do well, even at short notice Alfie was more than capable of making Castiel look his most presentable.

“A banquet, Cassie?” Balthazar asked, suspiciously, “What banquet would this be?”

In response, Castiel pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table so Balthazar could read it. He did so more than once before he put it down and raised his fingers to the bridge of his nose, as though he were trying to fight off a tension headache. “Perhaps you better tell me what happened.”

Castiel shucked his boots off, he only had a few hours to prepare and he wanted to help Alfie as much as he could. He could polish his own boots. He glanced up at Balthazar, “Sword. Do you think I should take my usual, the family one or the one I was gifted by the fund, you remember when we went out with the _Lysander_?”

“Castiel!” Balthazar snapped, “You wrote a report calling Roman a slave driver and worse and now you have an invitation to his banquet where he will relaunch his ship. A ship which _you_ crippled in the first place. Would you mind telling me what’s going on?”

Castiel winced, though he had been serious, he really wasn’t sure which sword would look better for the occasion. His usual of course denoted his position as a post-captain, the family sword was older and arguably less attractive but still looked impressive enough. The prize sword, in Castiel’s opinion, was a little gaudy, with its jewelled encrusted hilt, but given where he was going perhaps he could afford to be a tad ostentatious.

_“Castiel!”_

He'd take his family sword. It rarely saw the light of day, it seemed appropriate.

“Zachariah wouldn’t hear it, he burned the report in front of me.”

“I told you as much. Did Roman invite you to his soiree to gloat?”

Castiel cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Actually, Crowley arranged the invitation.”

“ _Crowley_.” Balthazar covered his face with his hands, “Please, Cassie. Please for the love of God tell me you haven’t made a deal with Crowley.”

“Not a deal,” Castiel was quick to assure him, “this is simply an arrangement of mutual benefit.”

“That sounds like a deal. So you get an invitation, what does Crowley get for his trouble?”

“Richard Roman’s head on a platter.”

There was a silence which was almost impressive. There was always noise aboard a ship, no matter what time of day it was or where they were, there would always be the steady patrol of the marines on watch, there would usually be someone singing somewhere and of course, there would be the endless repetitions of the daily chores from the deck. But at that moment, there was almost total silence. Not even the waves could be heard lapping against the ship, though _The Seraph_ still moved with them.

“You’re going to kill Richard Roman, for Crowley?”

“God, no!” Castiel snapped, almost offended that Balthazar could suggest such a thing. “I’m going to kill Richard Roman and it just so happens Crowley benefits from that enough to get me close to him. Roman has almost run him out of business you know?”

“Tragic,” Balthazar said, as though it were the least tragic thing he could think of. “So, you’re going to Roman’s banquet and what, run him through?”

“Are you insane? I’m a Captain in the Royal Navy, not a madman, I can’t just go up to the man and murder him, they’d hang me. I’m going to goad him into provoking me and kill him in a duel.”

Dropping heavily into a chair, Balthazar looked as though he might be weeping. “You’re mad. Do you know that? Roman is a renowned crack-shot. You have actually run mad.”

“I can’t just challenge him to a duel without cause and even if I had cause, it would never be allowed. Zachariah would tan my hide and be right to do so. So he is going to provoke me and I, being an honourable man, will have no choice but to accept his challenge.”

“Naturally. And who have you found to be your second for this insanity?” Castiel looked up at Balthazar, unblinking. “Oh no. No no no no. Absolutely not. He’s going to kill you, Cassie.”

“I have to do this, Balthazar,” Castiel said, fiercely, slamming his hands down on the table. “We are to set sail in the morning, we are to accompany _Leviathan_ and sink _Impala_. That cannot happen, not while I am in command of this ship. This is my chance to get close enough to Roman to stop him, I’ve written to my brothers but anything they do could take years, that's if they do anything at all. At least, if Roman is out of the picture then Crowley can set to dismantling his company and Dean will be safe-” he swallowed hastily, almost clapping his hand to his mouth. He hadn’t meant to reveal Dean’s name. Balthazar noticed of course, but said nothing. “I know Roman will likely kill me. I also know I’ll probably kill him in the process or at least injure him enough for some infection to set in, however, Crowley wants to finish him off. Either way, the islanders will be released and Dean...” he trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought. Not wanting to think about how Dean, who had asked for Castiel’s help, would react to know that help came at such a cost.

There was silence again, this time broken up by the heavy foot of the officer of the watch making his rounds.

“You know...you’re on the upper end of the list. They’ll make you admiral in a year or two.”

“I know,” Castiel said, quietly. The two of them looked at each other for a long, long time, communicating a lifetime of friendship between them. Castiel could walk away. Forget the whole thing, Zachariah would probably be happy to send him back to the blockade if he asked, anything to get rid of him. He’d be admiral within a year, he could hoist his own pennant at the mizzen, the thing he had always imagined himself doing if he lived long enough. He could marry the attractive and socially excellent daughter of one of his mother’s friends and return to the life he knew, pretending it wasn’t propped up on the blood and toil of innocent people.

Eventually, Balthazar sighed, “Of course I’ll be your second, Cassie. But, if something happens to you and Zachariah orders me to sail with _Leviathan_ , you know I have to.”

“I know,” Castiel said, evenly, “Thank you, Balthazar.”

“Don’t thank me, this is idiocy, besides, you have to shift yourself, you’ve a banquet this evening apparently and your hair looks ridiculous.”

* * *

The mercantile offices of Mr Richard Roman Esq: Importers and Traders of Fine and Quality Goods were housed in a building that could rival some of the manor houses back in Britain. It put Admiralty House to shame and for a brief moment, Castiel wondered how on earth Roman had managed to build such a beauty, before he realised that it had probably been off the back of Dean’s home. The simple act of stepping inside caused bile to rise within him, but he quashed it down and handed his invitation to the footman who led him and the guests ahead of him to the banquet hall. Of course, Roman had also outfitted the rooms to be suitable for grand celebrations, _of course_ he had. The rooms above, where Roman lived, were no doubt equally impressive to behold.

Just a month ago, Castiel would have been impressed by such things. Had he not grown up in such surroundings? Was not the house he shared with Gabriel comparable to this? And that was the house they lived in during peacetime, otherwise, they had rooms in London and Portsmouth. It all seemed so ostentatious now, so gaudy and unnecessary. Castiel longed for the simplicity of Dean’s cabin.

He longed for Dean.

Roman was greeting his guests as they filed in and Castiel had naturally fallen into line. He took a breath to steady himself, he would have to be insulting but vague. If he was too direct he’d be removed for disrupting the proceedings. If he seemed to be insulting Roman outright he’d be dismissed as a drunkard and a fool. He was not going to lose this chance. Roman leaned in to shake the hand of the person in front of Castiel, any minute now the game would begin. He closed his eyes for just a moment, remembering Dean, the feel of his arms around him, the press of his lips beneath his ear and he felt calmer than he ever had.

“Captain Novak isn’t it?” Roman asked, forcing Castiel’s eyes open. The man was leaning in to shake his hand, to refuse it would be a snub so he accepted it, relaxing into the most unimpressed posture he could manage. “So glad you could find yourself an invitation.”

“It was hardly difficult,” Castiel drawled and he saw a flicker, just a flicker, of surprise cross Roman’s features.

He broke into an insincere smile, “Welcome, I believe I’m having dinner with your brother tomorrow. Raphael is your senior I believe?”

“Indeed, he is a few years older than me so has been on the books longer. Certainly, his age is some compensation for his obvious shortcomings.”

Something of a frown passed over Roman’s features but Castiel was still smiling as he released his hand and stepped into the room, without waiting to be dismissed. He could feel Roman’s stare burning into the back of his neck, but he didn’t turn around, walking through to the banqueting hall, holding himself as though his surroundings were practically offensive.

He had barely stepped into the hall when he felt a firm hand on his arm and suddenly he was swept into a corner, finding himself face to face with the seething face of Admiral Adler.

“Good evening, Sir,” Castiel said, pleasantly.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Zachariah hissed, foregoing the formalities.

Carefully, Castiel removed Zachariah’s hand from his arm. “I was invited.”

They stared each other down for a moment, but short of calling him out there wasn’t much Zachariah could actually do. In the end, he drew back, scowling, “Just remember you sail in the morning.”

Castiel would have tapped his hat if it were not tucked under his arm, but instead, he bowed his head a little and stepped away to the buffet table where no doubt the finest of canapes and h’or doeuvres were laid out. It took just one look for the bile to return as Castiel recognised the most of the foods as those that Dean had pointed out as having come from his island. He shouldn’t have expected anything else. Still, he would not partake of it, instead filling a small plate with what things had not been bought off the backs of Dean’s home.

He moved around the room, holding vague and superfluous conversations with people he recognised by name or reputation but would never have cause to speak to again. At one point Castiel caught Crowley’s eye and they raised their glasses in a grim toast to each other, but neither did any more than that. It would not do for Roman to see them together, not even the implication of them together.

“Ah, Captain Novak, not a fan of seafood I see?”

Somehow Castiel had worked the room and had landed near Roman again, who was looking at his plate curiously.

“On the contrary, I enjoy it immensely,” Castiel said, levelly. “But, I’m afraid I have the misfortune of knowing where yours came from.”

Several heads turned to look at them, hearing the unmistakable insult towards their host. Roman’s smile became strained, but he didn’t let the facade drop. Instead, he laughed, maybe a little too loudly, but he stepped closer and dropped his voice so they could not be overheard.

“You must know I’m a friend of the Admiral, I know precisely what it is you wrote in your report.”

“My report contained nothing but the truth, to which aspect are you referring?” Castiel challenged, but Roman wouldn’t be drawn.

“You should consider your position carefully before you throw around unfounded accusations.”

“And what accusations would they be?”

Somebody touched Roman’s elbow and whispered something to him, drawing him away. He looked back at Castiel, as though he wanted to say something more, so Castiel smirked at him, knowing that it would annoy him further. It evidently did.

As the night drew on, Castiel made several turns around the room, making small talk with whoever looked even remotely interesting. But he always made sure that wherever he was he could always catch Roman’s eye. It was relatively easy to place himself in Roman’s eyesight at all times, sometimes he ignored him which seemed to annoy Roman as much as the superior looks Castiel shot him. Roman could have ignored him, but apparently a room full of sycophants bowing to him was not as satisfying when a single guest seemed unimpressed.

A footman tapped the side of a champagne glass, calling for the room’s attention.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he called, as a hush descended over the guests. “Mr Richard Roman.”

Castiel joined in the smattering of applause, though he ensured it was slightly lukewarm.

“Thank you,” Roman said, as though he were surprised to receive such a response from his carefully curated guest list. Across the room Crowley caught Castiel’s eye and seemed to snort into his wine, Castiel rolled his eyes in return, surprised to be sharing a moment like this with Crowley of all people.

“As you all know, my business has been dramatically affected by the operations of pirates, in the area-”

“ _Pirate_ ,” Castiel said before he could stop himself. Heads turned towards him so he smiled blandly, “It is a singular pirate ship, is it not, Admiral?” he asked, turning to Zachariah who could disguise the redness of his face as a symptom of overindulgence.

Zachariah nodded, mutely and Roman continued. “The operations of a _singular_ pirate, then,” he glared at Castiel but Castiel just smirked back. “Many of you will have already seen the damage done to my flagship, _Leviathan_. But most of you will have seen that the damage has been repaired and _Leviathan_ is ready to set sail.” Again the smattering of applause, again Castiel was sure to join in. “Come dawn, _Leviathan_ will set sail, the _pirate_ ,” he made sure to catch Castiel’s eye, “will be put down at last and our seas will be safe again.”

“Hear hear,” Zachariah called out, as the room applauded him a little more enthusiastically than they had done.

Castiel was surprised to see Roman make a beeline for him when he’d finished speaking, there was something smug about his face, but Castiel kept his face neutral, not revealing his confusion.

“Well Captain Novak, I hear you are accompanying my ship out to sea when she sails.”

Castiel raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “Given the state of her after just one engagement, I’m not surprised she requires an escort.”

“ _Leviathan_ boasts stronger armaments than most ships of her class in your Navy.”

“And she still couldn’t take on a single pirate, how embarrassing.”

“Then I think it a good thing she sails with you, I doubt the pirates will have the luck they had last time against two of you.”

“Luck? It had nothing to do with luck. You caught _Impala_ by surprise and were still bested,” Castiel snorted.

“Ah yes, I’m sure you had an excellent view from languishing in their cells.”

Castiel leaned in a little, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Actually, I had an excellent view, I was on deck at the time, commanding _Impala_ and blowing away your mizzenmast.”

The blow when it came had been expected, indeed, it was exactly that which Castiel was hoping to provoke. Still, he hadn’t expected a strike so forceful, he almost lost his footing though that might have been more from shock than the impact. He had to do his best not to smile, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to look furious. The room had fallen silent and almost everyone was looking at Castiel, waiting for his reaction.

“You son of a whore,” Roman growled.

“You strike me and insult me. I’ll thank you for your apology, sir.”

“I’d sooner shoot you like a dog,” Roman snapped, a gasp of surprise going up from those closest to them, but Roman had no doubt figured it out. He knew he had fallen into the trap Castiel had lain for him. Now there was nothing to do but for Castiel to close it behind him.

“Then you may wait upon my second, sir. Good night.”

With an impressive turn of his heel, Castiel strode from the hall, aware of the murmurings that followed him and that Zachariah was attempting to catch him before he left. But, Castiel had been closer to the door and was in the carriage Crowley had lent him before Zachariah had even cleared the hall.

Castiel tapped the roof twice and let the carriage roll off, taking him back to _The Seraph_. He would send Balthazar out as soon as he arrived to deliver the challenge. Roman wouldn’t retract his insult and he wouldn’t apologise for the blow. Even if Zachariah intervened with Roman he wouldn’t be able to convince him, what would be in it for Roman save for a loss of face? And the Admiral wouldn’t even broach it with Castiel, no man could suffer such a blow and stand for it. In a way it was a shame Raphael hadn’t arrived a day earlier, he and Castiel didn’t exactly get on, but Raphael would never have let such an insult to their family stand.

His heart was hammering in his chest, something Castiel hadn’t noticed until that very moment. Leaning back into the seat he tried to calm himself. Slowing his breathing and reminding himself that this was exactly what he had wanted. Roman had taken the bait and left himself open to a challenge. By tomorrow evening Roman would be dead and Crowley could start taking his assets for himself, but not the island. That had been their agreement after all. Castiel would take Roman’s life, Crowley would take the business, but the island would be left alone. The letters to Michael and Gabriel had covered that much and Crowley didn’t need to know that Michael was as likely to ignore any communication from his brother as he was to burn it as soon as he read it. Gabriel would keep an eye though. Half an eye. Maybe.

 _The Seraph_ looked deceptively peaceful compared to her captain’s mindset as he stepped from the carriage. This time tomorrow _The Seraph_ would be gone and Raphael's _Archangel_ would occupy its space. Surprisingly, the thought that Raphael might arrive in time to bury his brother did not disturb Castiel as much as it probably should.

* * *

Castiel did not sleep that night. There was little point. Even if he had found himself able to do so, he would have been able to do so for a few hours before he was woken to go to the duel. _Leviathan_ and _The Seraph_ would sail at dawn, so the duel had been scheduled for first light. Balthazar had returned after delivering the challenge to Roman with a face so grim Castiel might have already died. As suspected, Zachariah had tried to stop the proceedings but to no avail. Apparently, Crowley had been on hand to make a snide remark that Roman should listen to his Naval superiors, just to ensure there was no chance of him offering an apology.

After checking that his pistol was in working order and not likely to jam when he fired it, Castiel found himself at a loss at what to do. He wanted to write to Dean but there was no way he could guarantee that it would ever get to him and he would never be able to write what he wanted anyway. Too many people would read it and not one of them would be Dean.

When the knock came at the cabin door it felt as though no time at all had passed. There weren’t all that many crew loitering on deck, not at such an early hour, but those that were there watched their captain board his barge. There was a certain degree of finality to it and briefly, Castiel wondered how amusing it would be to survive the duel and return to duty immediately having dispatched his opponent without any trouble. The thought made him chuckle, but Balthazar glared at him, as though his levity was an affront to the occasion.

There was a short trip to the shore and an even shorter trip to one of the lesser-used beaches where they would not be disturbed. At one point, Castiel was aware that Balthazar had reached to take his hand, holding it tightly for a long time. If Castiel had raised his broad pennant, it would have been Balthazar beside him to have seen it. Such things seemed like the fancies of another life now.

Roman was waiting at the beach with a number of his associates, no doubt to help bury Castiel when they were done. Roman was nothing if not confident in his marksmanship. But then, so was Castiel.

Everything seemed to be quieter than usual. It seemed he could barely hear those around him over the rushing in his ears. Roman was saying something that he couldn’t understand, yet he distinctly heard himself responding. Then a faceless nobody stepped forward to officiate. He announced the rules of the duel and it was a good thing Castiel knew them by heart, for he couldn’t hear a word of them. Then his gun was being presented to him and he was back to back with Roman. His feet seemed to be moving of their own accord but at least he could hear Balthazar counting off his steps. He might have taken a moment to worry that he seemed to be having an out of body experience, but then he was facing Roman and he could see everything with startling clarity.

As though something had been lifted from his ears he heard the officiant say, quite clearly, “Are you ready?” to both of them. Castiel levelled his pistol as Roman did the same and then there was only a count of three that separated them from meeting their maker.

“One...”

“Two...”

_**Crack** _

Castiel felt the impact of the bullet as it struck his chest and he stumbled backwards, collapsing to the side as chaos erupted around him.

_“Coward!”_

_“I did not count three, sir!”_

“A misfire, I assure you, gentlemen, but the result would have been the same. Is he dead?”

The sand beneath Castiel was turning red with his own blood and he was aware that he couldn’t breathe so much as he was forced to gasp down burning lungfuls of air. There was no pain, that was unexpected. But he wasn’t dead yet and Balthazar’s arms were firm around him. He looked at Balthazar and gave the slightest of nods, his head already spinning from such a small motion.

“I am not,” Castiel rasped, even as he felt blood flow into his mouth and he spat it aside, caring not for how unattractive it looked.

“Captain Novak,” Roman’s second called, “You may return fire at will.”

Castiel would have liked to have revelled in the look on Roman’s face, momentarily struck dumb that Castiel should be living and that he now had no choice but to remain standing. He took it as a gentleman at least, nodding to Castiel as though complimenting him on his victory, unaware that Castiel’s vision was already hazy and his mind foggy.

Still, he forced himself to level the pistol and fired, though he could not have been certain whether or not he had struck true. Roman’s face seemed frozen in that expression, that half a smug smile that showed him untouchable. But there was a hole in his head that had not been there a moment before and Roman’s expression did not change as he dropped to his knees and fell forward into the sand.

Castiel was not aware that the cry of pain that echoed around the beach was his own. The pistol fell from his hand and he followed it to the ground, caught by Balthazar at the last moment. Balthazar was tapping at his face, his mouth moving but Castiel couldn’t hear any words. His eyes flickered closed and he felt himself fading, but the sand was warm and his last vision was of Dean.

Dean Winchester, standing in the rigging with the sun beating down on him, looking as though he had stepped straight from the pages of a myth or legend. His head was thrown back and he was laughing, but at what Castiel couldn’t tell. But it didn’t matter.

He tried to focus on Dean as blackness encroached him.

“ _I did it, Dean...I did it._ ”


	14. Epilogue

Dean had told Castiel that he would not accept his promise of returning, that if he had done so then it would mean he looked for him every day. And so, Castiel had not promised, but Dean had still looked. It had been weeks since they had left Castiel at Nassau, since he had watched him disappear out of view with some important looking men who would sooner hang Dean than look at him. Still, every day Dean woke up and would look out to sea, leaning against _Impala’s_ railings, just looking.

He was being miserable, he knew it and everyone else knew it. Almost every member of the crew had tried to snap him out of it. Benny had suggested he take the wheel for a while. Charlie had tried to get him up in the crow’s nest as often as she could so that he could appreciate the view. Ellen had made him his favourite stew and Jo had tried to convince him into some practice with the larger cannons. It had been a long time since he’d let them off. Sam knew to give him his space, but that didn’t stop him laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder, on more than one occasion and tell him that it was okay and that Cas was okay.

Nothing had really helped and after a while, they’d all stopped trying, for which Dean was honestly grateful. They had been at Bobby’s when they heard the news. It had been Bobby to tell them.

“You won’t have to be doing this no more,” he'd announced _after_ they had dropped off another load of supplies. _After_ they lay about the place panting and recovering their breath, even though it had been less than half than what they’d moved with Cas. “Roman’s dead.”

The reaction had been instant, people talking over each other, Sam had all but grabbed Bobby and shook him, demanding what he knew. It took a shout from Dean to calm them, before he too turned to Bobby expectantly.

“Roman’s dead?”

“Yup, heard it off one of his goons. They’ll be clearing off soon I imagine. Crowley’s taking over.”

“Who’s Crowley?”

“I dunno, but he’s got no business here,” Bobby had shrugged.

The words had barely left his mouth when Benny started digging into the spirits. Normally, Dean would have curbed such a thing, but they were celebrating. Who was he to stop them?

“How did he die?” he’d asked Bobby, quietly, though he couldn’t miss the way Bobby looked away quickly. “Bobby?”

Bobby had sighed, a weary thing that seemed to come from his very bones. “He got into a duel with some naval captain. The guy shot him clean in the head.”

“Cas?!”

“Hold on there, boy. I don’t know.”

But even though he hadn’t known for certain, it was clear that he suspected.

“Is the other guy-”

Bobby had held his hands up then, slowing Dean’s thoughts before they could overrun him. “All I know is that Roman duelled some navy captain and lost. But...from what they were saying, I think Roman got the other guy too.”

Dean had barely said a word since. It was Benny who gave the orders these days, though everyone seemed to be a little quieter around him. He didn’t blame them. He wasn’t really their captain anymore. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be.

There was no way to know who the duelling captain had been, but it must have been Cas. He’d said he’d help, he’d talked about the things he could do to stop Roman’s operation but they had depended on the efforts of others. Maybe he found that he didn’t have as much sway as he’d thought, maybe his plans had fallen through. It seemed too much of a coincidence that another naval captain would just happen to challenge Roman to a duel, after talking with Dean how best to rid the world of Richard Roman Enterprises.

It must have been Cas.

It had probably been Cas.

But, he didn’t _know_ , and so every day, Dean went to the railing and looked out to sea.

He was looking out to sea when he heard the ship come to life behind him. Looking back over his shoulder Dean saw Benny shouting for Jo to run out the guns, throwing his weight behind the wheel to steer it off the course they had been rather aimlessly following.

“What’s going on?” Dean called, his pain easily pushed aside when the occasion called for it.

“We got two frigates on our tail and they’re closing. Fast,” Benny added, tossing a glass to Dean and gesturing in the vague direction that he should look. Dean shook himself down, as though he could shake the melancholy that had hung over him for the last few weeks as he extended the glass and saw what Benny was talking about.

“Oh shit,” he murmured, sighting what was clearly _Leviathan_ , refitted and chasing them down for round two. He could only see the sails of the other ship, but they had hoisted their colours; the flag of the Royal Navy.

“We need more sail,” he roared up towards the hands crawling over the masts, “Benny, come about, get us on the larboard tack before they get a shot in.”

“They’ve got the weather gauge, Dean,” Benny pointed out, but Dean had already noted that. If the wind wasn’t with them then there would be no way for them to gain on _Impala_ so quickly. Dean threw himself across the quarterdeck, shouting down, “Jo, if we time this right we’ll have the chance for a broadside before they bring theirs to bear. You think you can reload in two minutes?”

Jo’s face appeared at the hatch, looking up at him with the widest grin Dean could ever remember seeing on her face. “Sure thing, _captain_ ,” she said, meaningfully, but Dean flushed red and waved her off.

One of the sails dropped as _Impala_ turned hard, putting them in a better position to meet their opponents. _Leviathan_ was almost upon them now, firing ranging shots that had so far yet to actually impact.

“You alright there, Jo?”

But Jo’s only response was to shout at one of the gun crew to hold fast. Dean threw himself up, holding onto the rigging, calculating what they could do to outmanoeuvre two frigates. They couldn’t take them both on, well, they could but they would suffer heavily for it and they wouldn’t be able to sink them. The most they could do is cripple them enough to escape and hope they didn’t run into them again. Right now it was only _Leviathan_ with their guns trained on them, the other ship seemed to be caught behind it, looking as though it would swing around and catch _Impala_ from the other side. But there was no time to worry about that.

From below deck, Jo’s shout rang out. “On the uproll!”

There was a moment while they waited for the waves to lift the ship, allowing the cannons a better angle from which to fire, and then there was a resounding crash as all the guns fired at once. The ship recoiled with the force of it, but Dean kept his eyes on _Leviathan_ , counting the shots as they landed. Despite the imminent danger of two frigates bearing down on them, he couldn’t help but laugh. Jo hadn’t even needed ranging shots. Not all of them hit home, but enough to make a dent.

He realised the returning fire was coming a second before _Leviathan_ actually opened fire. “Down! All hands down!” Dean yelled, just before he threw himself onto the deck. He didn’t need to check that the others had followed his lead and they stayed there until the whistling of the cannonballs finished and the splinters stopped showering down upon them.

Then they were back on their feet, doing what needed to be done as they passed out of range of the guns. _Leviathan_ was already turning, Dean saw now that they were coming around for another pass on the other side.

“Dean, the other one’s coming around,” Benny called.

“ _Dammit_.” Dean looked up to see that the other ship was coming around at the same time _Leviathan_ did. They had circled _Impala_ and now they were going to pass her on the same side and batter them, one after the other. “Port battery!” he shouted, but he knew that Jo would have already seen it. He knew they were done. 

The other ship came around and Dean caught Benny’s eye and they exchanged a look. They’d faced bad before, but this was pretty bad. The two of them braced themselves, waiting for the shots to come.

The other ship’s cannons exploded, and Dean closed his eyes, waiting for the blow to land.

But they didn’t.

There was no shrapnel, no debris. Dean’s eyes snapped open and he looked around the ship which seemed to be in one piece still. But the other ship was still firing.

“What the...”

The other ship had put itself between _Impala_ and _Leviathan_ and was now firing into their supposed ally at close range with everything they had, taking any hits meant for _Impala_ in return.

“Come about!” Dean shouted, unsure as to what was going on, but unwilling to stick around longer than they needed to. As they drew away, Dean cast his gaze back at the ships and grabbed his glass.

_The Seraph._

“ _Cas?”_

The sound of an explosion, a hundred times greater than that of a simple cannon drew everyone’s attention aft. _The Seraph_ had stopped firing, but they’d obviously caught a powder keg and half of _Leviathan’s_ deck disappeared as it exploded outwards, sending men, debris and everything else into the water. The chain reaction was almost instant, the explosions continued across the deck, the sails were ablaze, and it seemed almost cold the way _The Seraph_ turned away from the wreckage, drawing closer to _Impala_.

“All hands, wear ship!” Dean called and indicated with just a few hand motions where he wanted them to end up.

There was a final, resounding explosion and this time when they looked, there was hardly anything left of _Leviathan_ to look upon. In truth, Dean had already forgotten them, watching _The Seraph_ come near to them before they lowered their colours, closed their gun ports and dropped their anchor.

_Impala_ was quiet, a confused hush upon it. Sam and Eileen were coming up on deck, aware that they’d won, but not how they’d managed it. Benny called for the hands to secure the ship but then came the shout, “They’re sending a boat!”

Dean grabbed his glass and saw that the captain’s gig was being launched, complete with its crew of liveried rowers. His eyes were drawn to the man in the uniform, a smart coat and hat, but...there was something wrong with the picture. It didn’t look like Cas. He tried to level his breathing, aware that his heart was thundering so hard in his ears, the crew might mistake it for another call to action.

The man who pulled himself onto _Impala’s_ deck was definitely not Castiel.

He tipped his hat in a salute to the quarterdeck, which made more than a few of the hands chuckle before Dean stepped up to him.

He wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh...hey...I’m Dean.”

The man’s eyes widened, “ _You’re_ Dean? You? Well...hello. I’m Balthazar, Captain of _The Seraph_.”

Dean felt like he had been knocked down. Somehow he was still standing, though he felt as though he’d taken a cannonball in the gut and had been thrown across the deck.

“Oh...” he managed to rasp, his throat far drier than it had any right to be. “Well. Thanks...for...” he waved his hand in the vague direction of where _Leviathan_ had been, it felt heavy, too heavy. He wanted to lie down. “...the assist.”

Balthazar tipped his hat again. “You’re welcome. Our orders, of course, were to sink you, but our Captain wouldn’t have it.”

Dean’s head jerked up with such force, Balthazar would have had less effect if he’d struck him. “I thought...I thought you were the captain.”

“Oh I am,” he continued, with the air of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and enjoying every moment of it. From an inside pocket he consulted a pocket watch, “I’ve been captain of _The Seraph_ for just over twenty minutes now. Our last captain turned the guns on _Leviathan_ just before he decided to resign his commission. He’ll no doubt be hanged on sight if he ever shows his face near the Navy again, treason, dereliction of duty, murder, piracy and probably a hundred other articles, everything except sodomy, actually. Though...I’m sure he’ll remedy that soon enough.” Balthazar chuckled, slipping the watch back into his coat and turning to look back at where he’d come over.

Looking over the man’s shoulder, Dean saw that Sam and Benny were helping someone else over. He wanted to step forward to help them, but his legs seemed rooted to the spot.

“Cas?” Dean breathed.

Castiel smiled over at him. “Hello, Dean.”

He looked a mess. He was paler than any human should be, his shirt was open and loose revealing that his chest was a mass of bandages, though they were at least clean, and he was struggling to hold himself up, supported mostly by Sam.

But it was Cas.

Dean practically threw himself across the deck, throwing his arms around him, feeling the moment Sam let go and Cas let himself rest against Dean.

“Cas, you’re here. You’re here. You’re really here,” he was babbling but he couldn’t stop himself and Cas was holding him tight, so tight, he clearly didn’t mind. Cas buried his face in Dean’s neck and it felt a little wet but that was alright.

“ _You idiot_ ,” Dean hissed, pulling back so he could kiss every inch of Castiel’s face. “What the hell did you think you were doing? Roman could have killed you! I thought you were dead!”

Castiel was kissing him back, even though the whole ship and probably those aboard the one he’d just left were watching him.

“I love you,” Cas blurted out, “I love you. I’d do anything for you...”

Dean stole the rest of the declaration, pressing their lips together, feeling as though his heart would burst within him. He had never been this happy. He had never known this kind of happiness was possible. It would surely kill him.

From somewhere behind them, Balthazar cleared his throat. They both looked over at him, but he didn’t seem to be annoyed. “I suppose I don’t have to ask if you’re sure about all this, Cassie?”

Castiel shook his head, grinning from ear to ear, leaning in to kiss Dean again. And again.

“Alright, then I take my leave.” To Dean’s surprise, he stepped forward and threw his arms around Castiel in a gesture entirely unbecoming of His Majesty’s Navy. “I’ll miss you,” Balthazar said, softly, he pulled back and looked at Benny for a moment, a _long_ moment, “though I quite understand the appeal.”

Benny flushed and looked away while Dean laughed, a little too loudly, a little too giddy. “I like him.”

Castiel smiled, “How are you going to explain all of this?”

“How you turned traitor, ordered us to sink _Leviathan_ and then ran off with pirates? I’ll think of something, Cassie darling. I’ve been cleaning up your messes since you were old enough to make them after all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a ship to command. At least, until we get back to port.”

His hands rested on Castiel for a moment longer, as though he were committing the sight to memory, before he nodded to Dean, looked one last time at Benny, and was then over the side, leaving them to it.

There were greetings to be made, the deck was buzzing with excited chatter and the occasional call to Cas. But then Dean saw Garth approaching them and realised they were all about to hug the life out of the man and he wasn’t sure Cas would stand it.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you lying down,” Dean muttered, bracing Cas across the shoulders and steering him towards the cabin.

“I’ll be okay, Dean,” Castiel assured him, “It’s not nearly as bad as it looks. The worst is over.”

Dean held him, a little tighter, hating the idea that Cas had almost died without him there to bring him through it. “You look like you’re about to pass out,” Dean said, but still he laughed. He didn’t think he would stop laughing. The joy had to go somewhere.

“I’m fine,” Castiel replied, totally unconvinced, at least until he added. “I’m with you.”

Dean stopped dead, pulling his other arm around to embrace Cas, as though he couldn’t imagine another moment without him in his arms. “I love you,” he breathed against the shell of Castiel’s ear. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Castiel gave him an impish grin, “Is it enough to let me run away with you and hide from the Navy for the rest of our lives?”

Dean cupped his face and kissed him again, tenderly, softly, promising that and everything else. “Cas, I love you much more than that.”

Somewhere a little way away from them, _The Seraph_ pulled up her anchor and set her sails for Kingston. As they passed, they fired a salute, probably the only time the Royal Navy had ever rendered honours to a pirate, before _Impala_ came about and the two parted ways.


End file.
